A Summer to Remember

Book 6: A Tallgrass Novel

by Marilyn Pappano

Genres: Family Life; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

FIRST LOVE NEVER FADES . . . It's been a long time since widow Fia Thomas felt the spark of physical attraction. But from the moment she meets Elliot Ross one stormy night, she yearns for a fresh start, for him to make her feel whole and well again. With his broad shoulders and a warm smile crinkling his dark eyes, he could finally offer her the solace she's been seeking. And she's willing to give him anything in return . . . except a promise that could break his heart. Now that Elliot is out of the Army, he's looking for a place to call home. Tallgrass was just a stop to stretch his legs, yet one look at Fia halts him in his tracks. In her sweet, sassy company, he finds the soul mate he never thought he'd have. But Fia is holding something back-something that keeps her from making any plans. Elliot's new mission: gain Fia's trust...and convince her that summer's end can mean a new beginning.

Release date: June 28, 2016

Publisher: Forever

Print pages: 384

Sample

Chapter 1

His neck aching from hours behind the wheel, Elliot Ross gave in to just a bit of relief when lights became visible a few miles ahead. He’d been driving a long time, most of it through spring storms, wind buffeting the truck, rain falling so hard that the windshield wipers couldn’t keep up. Every muscle in his body was knotted and sore. If he had the money, this would be a good night to check into a motel, to take a shower as long and as hot as he wanted, to sleep in a real bed with real privacy.

He didn’t need to pull out his wallet to know that he didn’t have the money. He wasn’t broke, but his funds were reaching the level that always made him itch. With any luck, he’d be able to find work in Tallgrass, short-term if nothing else. He could build up his safety net, maybe run into some old friends, maybe even find a place to settle. Eight years in the Army had left him with buddies all over the world, and though he was alone by choice, he always appreciated meeting up again with friends.

Rustling from the passenger seat reminded him that he wasn’t exactly alone. His companion, fifteen pounds of lazy, shedding tan hair, and giant puppy-dog eyes, uncurled and sat up, tail thumping against the console, then raised her gaze to him. He hadn’t known her long enough to read all her cues, but he was pretty sure that look was universal in the canine world for I need to take a leak.

“Hang on, Mouse. According to Matilda, we’ll be in Tallgrass in a couple minutes.” Elliot had given the name to the truck’s GPS the first time he’d ever used it and found the previous owner had set it to a woman’s voice with an Australian accent. He’d traveled to Perth while he was still on active duty, and all it took was one simple turn left in that accent to remind him of good times with Aussie girls soft enough, sweet enough, and sexy enough to almost make him think about renouncing his U.S. citizenship and spending the rest of his life becoming a sandgroper.

Almost.

Mouse stared at him a moment before blinking and looking away. Elliot had found her in eastern Tennessee two days ago. A group of kids had been messing with her in a McDonald’s parking lot, offering the starving pup a scrap of burger, then kicking her away before she could get it.

Worthless punk cowards. Elliot flexed his still-tender right hand. He’d made sure they understood they’d picked on the wrong dog before he’d loaded the scrawny pit into his truck and headed for the nearest vet.

Always a white knight, his sister used to tease, but it wasn’t anything so noble. He just didn’t like seeing anyone mistreated, and luckily he was tough enough and strong enough to put a stop to it most times.

The lights grew brighter despite the heavy cloud cover, and within minutes he was passing the main gate to Fort Murphy. It seemed strange to drive past with no plans to turn into the entrance. He’d spent most of his adult life going to work on similar posts, places so familiar that they felt more like home than anywhere else.

Another mile or so, and a shopping center appeared on the right. With a glance at Mouse, he slowed, then turned into the lot. The only businesses open this late on a Friday night were a Mexican restaurant at the front and a pharmacy at the back. A strip of grass separated the pharmacy from the parking lot, only a few feet wide and maybe twenty feet long, but that was more than enough for Mouse to do her business.

He parked near the median and shut off the engine, then contemplated the rain for a moment. “I don’t suppose I could just open the door and you’d jump out and do your thing, then come back?”

Mouse held his gaze with a steadiness he found unsettling. He’d known his share of animals that had been mistreated, but he’d never seen one less skittish than this one. She showed him no fear. She’d trembled and whimpered with the punks, and with the vet and his assistants, but she was steady as a rock with Elliot.

She trusts you, idiot, his sister Emily’s voice commented. Females always trust you.

The truth of her statement made him grin.

Tugging his jean jacket collar a little closer, he slid out of the truck, jogged to the other side, opened the door, and hooked Mouse’s leash on before lifting her to the ground. She didn’t dart off the ten feet to the grass like he’d hoped but instead hunkered underneath the truck, still giving him that long, steady look. “Come on, Mouse, I’m getting soaked here.”

She didn’t move.

“Come on, you’re a pit bull. Big, fierce dog.” He growled softly at her. “You can’t tell me you’d rather hold it than piss in the rain.”

No response.

With water dripping from his hair and trickling down his neck, Elliot gave the leash a tug. When she didn’t move, he sighed and reached under the passenger seat. The umbrella he brought out had been in the truck when he bought it. He hadn’t used one in…well, ever—he was a tough guy, right?—but he’d never bothered to throw it away, figuring someday he might find himself with a pretty female who cared about things like staying dry. Mouse was a good-looking dog, or would be once she’d put on some weight, but she wasn’t exactly the kind of female he’d had in mind.

He popped the umbrella, tilting it at an angle that would provide protection for the pup, and Mouse instantly came out from under the truck, walking alongside him to the grass.

“Grown man holding an umbrella for a prissy little dog so she doesn’t get wet,” he grumbled as the dampness spread over him from the outside in. His jeans were sticking to his legs, and even inside work boots, his feet were getting wet and cold. His hair was soaked, his jacket sodden, and his shirt—

“I think I’d worry more about talking to myself than pampering the baby.”

The voice came from behind him, soft and amused, its accent muddled, and very definitely female. Abashed at being caught off guard, he turned to face a slight woman an inch or two shorter than him. A neon green slicker covered her clothes, showing bare legs and feet shoved into disreputable sneakers, and its hood kept most of her face in shadow. Not the smile, though. Her smile was wide and happy and made a guy want to smile back—at least, a guy who wasn’t turning red to the tips of his ears.

“She, uh, doesn’t like the rain.” He gestured toward the dog, who’d turned her back to them before squatting carefully over the wet grass. “I’ve never done this before. Held an umbrella for a dog, I mean. Hell, I’ve never held an umbrella for a person, either, except for the time I tried to hit my sister with one, if that counts.” Jeez, he was rambling. He hadn’t rambled with a pretty girl in his life. His mama called him a natural-born charmer, but his best hope for charm now was his smile.

“Did you succeed?” At his blank look, she pointed to the umbrella. “You said you tried to hit your sister. Did you succeed?”

“No, she outran me. Emily was six feet tall by seventh grade, and I hadn’t hit my growth spurt yet.” He grinned at the obvious fact that his growth spurt had never come. He reached five feet nine only by standing on his toes, but he’d compensated for lack of height by building strength.

At his feet, Mouse barked, the first sound he’d heard from her that wasn’t pain-filled. When he looked down at her, she stared back, her way, he guessed, of saying she’d had enough of the rain.

The woman apparently thought the same thing. “She probably needs her feet dried. I assume you carry a towel for that purpose?” Adjusting the slicker hood, she took a few steps away, then turned back. “I think it’s sweet, you holding the umbrella for her.”

He grinned again. “That’s me. Sweeter than honey.”

Once again she smiled, and anticipation crackled around them, like lightning about to strike. He even took a quick look at the sky to make sure they weren’t about to get fried, then reconnected gazes with her. If he didn’t say something, she was going to make another move to go, and he’d be left standing in the rain, watching her drive away, full of things to say, just too late. He hated being too late.

“Could Mouse and I interest you in a drink?”

She stood there a long time, as still and steady as Mouse, probably considering the wisdom of going to a bar with a total stranger. She could be married, for all he knew—could be a nun, for all he knew—but he wouldn’t recall the invitation if he could. She was pretty and nice and seemed to like his dog, and her voice could make a man weak, and her smile…

“Sorry. I don’t drink,” she said at last. “But how about a burger? There’s a Sonic just down the street, so Mouse wouldn’t have to stay alone in the truck.”

A drive-in on a rainy night, cool air drifting through the windows, fog steaming the glass, privacy without risk. “Burgers sound great. You want to leave your car here?”

She hesitated again before beeping the door locks of the only car parked nearby. “You can follow me.”

He watched until she’d reached the car before giving Mouse a tug and heading back to his truck. After lifting the dog inside and tossing the umbrella into the rear floorboard, he climbed in and started the engine.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured. “We’ll be happy to follow you, won’t we, Mouse?”

*  *  *

“What are you doing?” Fia Thomas asked aloud as she peered through the rain on her way through the lot to Main Street. “You should be home in your pajamas. You shouldn’t be out in the rain. You certainly shouldn’t be driving in the rain, and having a hamburger with a stranger…You don’t even know his name! That’s so far off the top of the scale of shouldn’ts that it doesn’t even register.”

Shoving her hood back with one hand, she checked her appearance in the rearview mirror and grimaced. “No makeup, you didn’t even comb your hair, and…Oh, my God, when did you start talking to yourself like this?!”

A paper bag crinkled in her slicker pocket, the pills she’d picked up at the pharmacy. It was one of the multiple medications her doctor had her on to treat the symptoms of the illness they hadn’t yet identified. She could have waited for it until tomorrow morning. She could have called any one of her best friends, and they would have picked it up and brought it to her. Wind and flood wouldn’t keep them away when she needed them. That knowledge warmed her heart almost unbearably.

But she’d had a good day. No vision problems, no muscle spasms, no stumbling or headaches or nausea. For the first time in a long time, she was feeling like herself, and she’d grabbed the first excuse to come to mind for rushing out into the rain and driving a car for the first time in months. She’d relished the feel of sitting behind the wheel, hands clasping it firmly, the radio tuned to the loudest and most favorite of her country stations. She’d felt strong. Empowered. Independent.

After more than a year of fearing she would never be any of those things again.

The white pickup followed her through a green light and into the center turn lane, then into Sonic’s driveway. Overhangs protected the cars on both sides from the downpour, and bright lights made it feel like midday.

With a glance in the rearview mirror, she drove to the last spot on the row and shut off the engine. The wipers stopped in mid-swipe with a squeaky-smudgy sound, replaced almost immediately by the powerful engine parking beside her. She pulled the pills from her pocket and tossed them on the passenger seat, combed her fingers through her hair again, patted her other pocket to make sure her tiny purse was there, then reached for the door. Her hand stilled on the handle.

Was she really going to do this? Get in a stranger’s truck, eat a hamburger, make small talk, maybe even flirt with him? All because he was sweet to his dog and had a great smile and gorgeous eyes and radiated nice, sexy guy with every breath he took, and because she’d had a good day and those times came so rarely that it seemed wrong not to celebrate? And maybe partly because she hadn’t sat with a man, sharing a meal or a drink or a laugh, since Scott, and twenty-four was way too young to be so alone?

Her fingers tightened as the defiant voice in her head answered, Yeah, we’re gonna do this. Scott’s dead. He’s not coming back, little girl, and he’d never want you to live alone like this.

The words hurt her heart, a tug so powerful that nausea stirred deep in her gut, but she pushed it back. Scott was dead, and she hated that fact with all her soul, but she couldn’t change it. And he would be pissed if she’d given up without him. Warrior girl, he’d called her, the strongest, the toughest, the baddest-ass woman he knew. The one who could do any damn thing, could survive any damn thing. Hell, yeah, she was gonna do this.

With a deep breath, she opened the car door and slid out. The rubber soles of her sneakers made a sound similar to the wipers as she pivoted through the narrow space to the pickup’s passenger door. Mouse’s owner leaned across the truck and opened the door a few inches while Mouse sat halfway between the front and the rear seats, still and sniffing the air. Was it Fia’s unfamiliar scent that had caught her attention or the burgers-grease-fries aroma that announced, Good food found here?

Obvious answer. The dog’s nose was twitching, and drool was starting to form at the corners of her mouth.

But it was Fia who held the man’s interest. A shiver ran deep inside her. Oh, man, it had been so long since she’d felt the tingle brought on by a man’s interest—so long since she’d let herself feel it, since she’d wanted to feel it. The sad truth was, she didn’t have much to offer a man besides worry and frustration and a whole lot of hassle. But for one night she could pretend that the medical issues didn’t exist, that she was a perfectly normal, healthy woman who’d been asked out by a perfectly gorgeous man.

She climbed in the truck, settled in the worn seat, and closed the door before looking his way. Perfectly gorgeous was an understatement. He was incredible. His hair was dark brown, falling over his eyes and past his shoulders, sleek and shiny. His features were sharply defined: blue eyes with ridiculously long lashes, strong nose, stubborn jaw, and a mouth that sensuously softened the angles. He wasn’t tall, as he’d pointed out, but he was compact, with broad shoulders, rock-hard muscles, strength tempered by gentleness. There was an air about him of peace, decency, Zen, but also a sense of limits. He was a man who couldn’t be pushed too far.

That’s a lot to read into one look, she mocked herself. Honestly, he was damn good-looking. The rest was fantasy.

Nothing wrong with a little fantasy, Scott whispered.

“So…” The guy’s husky voice broke the silence, along with the sound of his window sliding down. “You know what you want?”

An innocent question to conjure so many answers in her head. She stuck with the pertinent one. “A number one combo, no onions, and a cherry limeade.”

He pressed the order button, waited for the tinny response, and ordered two of the same. She breathed in the cool air that filled the cab, catching a faint scent of dog and a fainter scent of man. Men had the best smells. All it took was the slightest whiff of the cologne or shampoo Scott had used, a cup of coffee brewed strong the way he had, and in a flash, she would be in happier times. Definitely better ones.

He swiped his fingers through his hair, then took a band dangling from the gear shift and pulled it back into a ponytail. She’d never been a fan of long hair on men, but it worked for this one. After drying his hands the best he could on his wet shirt, he extended the right one. “I’m Elliot Ross.”

The introduction reminded her how out of character this was for her. Meeting a man for dinner, even if it was at Sonic, without learning his name first was something the before-Scott Fia would have done, certainly not something widowed, struggling Fia should do. But now you know his name, and it’s a nice one. Not too common, not too unusual, masculine without sounding too macho.

“And you are?” His brows rose, and so did the corners of his mouth. She liked a good-natured man. Angst was nice to read about in a novel, and it worked fine for some of her besties and the men in their lives, but Fia was happy with balance, good humor, and optimism. She tried to be that way herself. It made life easier.

“Fia Thomas,” she said, and after an instant, she took his hand. Shaking hands was such a common, ordinary thing. She’d done it a thousand times, and nine-hundred-ninety-five of them had been brief, impersonal, barely worth classifying as contact. But on a few rare occasions, there had been more: a charge, a spark, the recognition of the potential that this person could actually rock her world, good or bad.

Elliot’s palm was warm, the skin toughened from years of work. It was twice the size of hers, and it gave her that spark, that warning, that he could shake things up. Trouble was, things were already shaky. Any more shaking, and she could end up like the woman in the old commercial, knocked on her ass and unable to get up.

Though he showed no sign of letting go, when she tugged, he released her hand. She clasped both hands in her lap with an internal sigh of relief, feeling…safer that way.

What had happened to the days when being safe was the last thing on her mind?

“You don’t have the typical Oklahoma accent,” he remarked.

“I’m from Florida.”

“What brought you to Tallgrass?”

“My husband, Scott, was in the Army.” The air between them changed, a flutter of discomfort, or maybe disappointment, accompanied by his quick glance at her bare left hand. Good. She appreciated a man who cared whether the object of his flirtation was married. “I was here when he deployed to Afghanistan, and I stayed here when he died.”

Elliot’s expression turned solemn, his eyes going darker, his mouth flattening. “I’m sorry.”

She’d heard those words a thousand times—said them ten thousand—with little real meaning. I’m sorry I was late, I’m sorry I missed dinner, I’m sorry to bother you. But there was genuine emotion in his voice—not just sympathy but empathy, too. It wasn’t something he automatically parroted but something he actually felt.

She couldn’t bring herself to offer the other bland, automatic response—Thank you—so she forced a small smile instead. “What about you? You don’t sound like a native, either.”

“I’m from West Texas.”

Instantly an image of him in Wranglers, cowboy boots, and a Stetson, with no shirt but a lot of smooth brown skin begging for a caress, formed in her mind. It warmed her enough inside to require the unzipping of her slicker. “And what brings you to Tallgrass?”

“The highway and my trusty steed.” He patted the dashboard with a grin before shrugging. “I’m just looking for a place that feels like home.”

“West Texas doesn’t anymore?”

A distant look came into his eyes, resisting the casual smile he offered. “Nah. I went off to join the Army, and while I was gone, the town where I grew up pretty much shriveled up and blew away. My folks moved to Arizona, my sister to New Mexico, and me…like I said, I’m looking.”

“I get that. I was looking for a while, too.” For most of her life, she’d been on her own, except for those too-short years with Scott. Absent father, disinterested mother, no family to help her…It had made her strong, but damn, that strength had come at a price. There was a part of her that would give it all up in exchange for a normal life, good health, and a man who would protect and keep her safe. She knew what it was like to be fierce and independent. Sometimes, just for a change, she wanted to be pampered and coddled.

Elliot’s gaze fixed on her, searching, before he asked, “You find what you needed here?”

There was such intensity in his eyes that it seemed almost physical, warming her face, sliding along her skin, tying a knot in her gut. She had to shrug out of the slicker to slow the heat burning through her, had to clear her throat before she could answer, and when she did, the words came out husky. “Yeah. I did.” What she needed, what she wanted, and the hope for maybe, someday, what she only dreamed about.

Movement blurred on the sidewalk, a carhop on skates rolling their way. Elliot’s gaze didn’t waver, though, not until it softened, not until he quietly, with some satisfaction, said, “Good. That’s good.”

*  *  *

Elliot liked women. All women. He didn’t have a type, no preference in hair color, physical characteristics, sometimes not even personality: He had great memories of a few women who would have driven him crazy if they’d stayed together one minute longer. Women were the best idea God had ever had, soft and funny and smart and difficult and beautiful and sexy and aggravating and intriguing and frustrating and so incredibly sweet.

Fia Thomas—he wondered if that was short for Sofia—was making a great start on being all those things. He wouldn’t be surprised if he drove away from her tonight with one of what Emily called his serious casual crushes. He always fell a little bit in love with the women he dated. It never lasted long, and he was okay with that, since he wasn’t eager to get his heart broken. He’d volunteered for a lot of dangerous things in his life, but heartache wasn’t one of them.

He paid for their dinner, brushing away the five bucks Fia produced from one of her slicker pockets. Handing her a paper bag and a drink, he grinned. “You can buy next time.” Since he would be in Tallgrass awhile, might as well make sure she had a reason to see him again.

“That sounds fair.” She unpacked her bag: fries on the dash, hamburger staying warm in foil, ketchup squirted from plastic packets onto an edge of French fry packaging. “It can even be home-cooked as long as it doesn’t have to be my cooking.”

“Hey, you provide the kitchen, I can do the cooking. I like to cook.”

She studied him a moment before licking a dab of ketchup from her fingertip. “I like a man who knows his way around a kitchen,” she said at last.

If she would lick her finger like that again, all innocent and tempting and unself-conscious, he’d gladly do the shopping, the prep, the cooking, the serving, and the cleanup for the best meal she’d ever had—and breakfast to follow.

Mouse climbed into Elliot’s seat as he unwrapped his burger, breaking the tension that surrounded him, making it easier for him to draw a breath. When he tore off a bite, she took it delicately from his fingers, chewed it carefully, then set her butt on the console, and waited, quivering, for the next.

“How long have you had her?” Fia asked around a mouthful of her own burger.

He gave the dog an affectionate nudge with his elbow. “Two days.”

“Is she a rescue?”

He didn’t need to study Mouse to see what Fia saw: scrawny body, ribs showing through her skin, old injuries to her legs and torso. “Yeah. Some kids were playing soccer with her. She was the ball.” He flexed his hand again, taking satisfaction in the aches there—and greater satisfaction that the teenagers were in a lot more pain than either him or Mouse.

“Poor baby. Lucky you and your trusty steed rode to her rescue. I hope you gave them something to remember you by.” She smiled, softening the lines and the thinness of her face. Mouse wasn’t the only one who needed a few pounds to fill her out. In her loose-fitting T-shirt and shorts, Fia looked as if she hadn’t found much interest in food lately. Grieving a husband who’d died so young could do that to a woman.

He thought briefly of Scott Thomas, wishing him peace, respecting his sacrifice. Not every service member saw combat, but everyone who signed up during wartime knew it was a serious possibility, and they were willing to accept that. Elliot had been lucky enough to come home, as tough and determined as when he’d left, thanks to his parents, Emily, and his own hardheadedness.

He’d lost a lot of people he’d loved, though, and a lot he’d hardly known. He was glad to be out of it, to be home in the United States, but if the Army needed him to go back, he would. Live for something rather than die for nothing, General George S. Patton Jr. had said, a fine sentiment, but Elliot preferred to switch it around: Die for something rather than live for nothing.

There had always been passions in his life, so he’d never had to settle for nothing. He never would.

“What kept you in Tallgrass after your husband passed?” He softened the words, the way he would soften any personal question, maybe a little bit more given the subject.

She pinched off a piece of her hamburger, including a generous hunk of meat, and offered it to Mouse. The dog hesitated, glanced at Elliot, and he nudged her to let her know it was okay. She took it in her mouth, then retreated to the backseat to eat it.

“There was nothing in Florida to go back to. And Oklahoma has the best people. All my friends are here.” Fia paused long enough to dip a French fry in ketchup, then studied it a moment before adding, “Though all of them are transplants except Bennie and Patricia. They’re all Army wives. Army widows. They’re my family.”

He understood the value of family, both the one a person was born into and the one they picked for themselves. He stayed in close contact with his parents and Emily; he talked with his nieces and nephew every week; he’d attended the last two family reunions and felt like a better person for it.

Holding what was left of her burger in one hand, Fia gestured toward Mouse. “Can she have…”

“Sure. I don’t want her to get used to people food, but right now, I figure she needs all the calories she can get. She’s been hungry too long.”

Finishing off his own sandwich, Elliot watched her feed Mouse one bite at a time. When she was done, she crumpled the wrapper, then swiped one hand through her hair. It was brown like his, just a few shades darker, and shorter by inches. Even with the dampness in the air, it lay smooth, framing her delicate face and, at first glance, making her look dangerously young. At second glance, though, it was clear she’d passed legal age a few years back. He would guess she was in her mid-twenties, maybe a year older, maybe a year younger.

At first glance, second, and third, she was beautiful in a fragile, innocent way, though he knew appearances could be deceiving. She might rouse his protective instincts—most women did—but she was physically strong, evidenced by impressive biceps and triceps and long solid muscles in her thighs and calves. Emotionally, she was probably pretty strong, too. Being an Army. . .