When Summer Comes (Whiskey Creek #3)(12)
Author: Brenda Novak

When he glanced over, she could see him weighing whether or not he wanted to engage in this conversation.

“Is where you served classified information?” She grinned, trying to tempt him into lowering his guard, but he didn’t even crack a smile.

“It’s pointless to go through the usual rituals. We won’t know each other long enough for any of it to matter.”

“It’ll take a week to finish the barn, and that’s only if you’re a fast worker. So humor me.”

“Fine.” He shrugged. “Afghanistan.”

“That must’ve been tough.”

No response, but she couldn’t blame him for not wanting to talk about such a difficult post.

“Where are you from?”

“Seattle.”

“Do you have family there?”

He wasn’t looking at her. He’d gone back to staring out the window. “Some.”

“A wife? Kids?” She’d seen no ring on his finger, but she knew that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t committed.

A muscle jumped in his cheek, giving her the impression that she’d just struck a nerve.

“Neither,” he said, the word falling like an ax.

Curious as to why he’d be sensitive on this subject, she asked, “So you’ve been married?”

It took him a few seconds to answer, but eventually he managed another word. “No.”

“Neither have I.” She leaned forward to catch his eye. “In case you were wondering.”

He made no comment, which led her to believe he hadn’t been wondering—or wasn’t willing to admit it if he was. He’d have to open up if he was going to ask any questions about her, and that would risk her asking even more questions about him.

“Wow, you’re really easy to talk to,” she said.

His eyes flicked her way.

“I’m afraid they won’t release my bike.”

“The impound lot? Why wouldn’t they?”

“I don’t have my license or registration.”

Considering his situation, this didn’t really surprise her. But it did create a problem. ID was usually required. “So what’s your plan?”

“I don’t know. It’s my bike. If we pay the fine, they’d better give it to me.”

Callie didn’t want any problems. “You didn’t…steal it, did you?”

He gave her a look that nearly shriveled her on the spot. “No. Just because I don’t have the registration with me doesn’t mean I stole it.”

She wasn’t sure why, but she believed him. He seemed too forthright to be a theif. “I have a friend who tows for this yard. Actually, it’s the brother of a friend. I bet Joe can arrange it.”

This seemed to ease some of his tension. “You think so?”

“It’s a small town. We can work it out.” She loosened her seat belt to give her a bit more breathing room. “So what brings you to California?”

“Figured this was as good a place as any.”

She had so many loved ones she couldn’t imagine taking to the road, trading her relationships with them for a series of roadside diners and two-bit hotels—even if she was well.

“Does your family know you’re here?” Who’d been part of his life? And where had they gone? Did they miss him? Care about him?

Again, there was a slight delay in his answer. “I haven’t talked to them in some time.”

Why? She wanted to ask, but no amount of effort on her part seemed capable of breaching the walls he’d thrown up. Because he wouldn’t engage in this conversation, it seemed more like an interrogation.

Convinced that she was wasting her time, Callie let it go. She wasn’t necessarily looking for a friend. She had plenty of those. She was just trying to be one. But being a friend didn’t have to include badgering him into revealing his situation. She could live and let live. After all, she had her own secrets.

Adjusting the volume on the radio, she fell silent and expected that silence to last—until he spoke.

“That guy, Kyle.”

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “What about him?”

“You’re sleeping with him, right?”

Fortunately, the impound lot was coming up. “Kyle’s a long story,” she said, and turned into the drive.

* * *

At the farm, the sun bore down on Levi, reminding him of Kandahar in July. In reality, this day, which was somewhere around ninety degrees, was mild by comparison. He’d never felt what the word swelter meant until he’d experienced one-hundred-and-fifteen-degree temperatures in the desert half a world away—while wearing an army uniform and fifty pounds of gear. Still…the blinding brightness of the afternoon sun brought back memories. Once again, he could taste the gritty dust that clogged his nose and throat, the salt of his own sweat, the fatigue of intense exertion. He could also hear the Pashto spoken in the market they policed. Afghanistan had been unlike any place he’d ever visited or previously imagined, but he hadn’t disliked being there. Not in the beginning. Joining the army provided an escape from his father, which had considerably improved his life.

Besides, at nineteen and freshly graduated from high school, he’d been so idealistic and full of patriotism he’d been eager to face any challenge. He’d just had no idea what those challenges would entail—or how smiling at a pretty girl could turn out to be the biggest mistake he’d ever made.

“Are you thirsty?”

Grateful for the interruption, he raised a hand to block the sun. Callie was standing there, holding a glass of iced tea, but for a moment he thought he saw Behrukh in her shami dress and hijab—the way he’d first seen her in her father’s store—and his chest constricted.

“Levi? Are you okay?”

The vision cleared. This wasn’t Afghanistan. And Callie looked nothing like Behrukh, who’d been tall and thin with the characteristic dark hair and eyes of her people.

“Fine.” In some ways, he was better than fine. The impound lot hadn’t given him any trouble about releasing his bike. The guy there had chatted with Callie, flirted a bit and taken a call from her friend Joe, who vouched for him, and that was it. Hooking an arm around one knee, he sat up and accepted the glass she handed him.

“It’s too soon for you to be working. I wish you’d get some rest.”

“I’m okay.” He took a long drink, letting the cool, sweet liquid soothe his parched throat.