Striking Distance by Pamela Clare Page B

Despite the near-constant ache in his thigh, it had felt good to get physical. Lifting hay bales and trudging through deep snow had gotten his heart pumping and filled his lungs with fresh mountain air. He’d felt alive again, strong. But the best part about it had been working side by side with Nate.
    And still something felt . . .
wrong
.
    Javier thrust the feeling aside, refused to let himself go there. If it hadn’t been so cold out, he’d have gone back inside to grab his guitar. He’d been playing a lot since getting wounded. Something about it cleared his mind, helped him focus, gave him an outlet for whatever was gnawing at him.
    Behind him, the sliding glass door opened and closed, Nate’s boots crunching in a foot of new snowfall. He shook off a chair and sat beside Javier.
    Javier looked over at him. “Nice view.”
    “Thanks.” Nate grinned from behind his sunglasses, bundled in a fleece and leather barn jacket, cowboy hat still on his head. “It’s home.”
    Javier could see that. Nate belonged here.
    Where do you belong?
    Why the hell was he asking himself that question? He already knew where he belonged. He belonged downrange with his men.
    He took another swig, savoring the bitterness. “Is the fishing good around here?”
    “Yeah. Cutthroat trout. Brook trout. Bass.”
    “Might have to come back.”
    Nate leaned his head back and tilted his hat over his eyes, a grin lurking on his face. “Door’s always open.”
    Nate smiled a lot these days. It did Javier good to see him so happy.
    Most of the reason for that happiness glanced at them through the sliding glass door, then opened the door a crack, a smile on her pretty face. “I thought I might find the two of you
chilling
somewhere together. Comfortable?”
    Nate raised his head, eyeing his wife from beneath the brim of his hat. “Why don’t you come on over here, sit on my lap, and warm me up, honey?”
    “Thanks, but I think I’ll stay inside where it’s warmer. Brrr!” Megan pretended to shiver. “Sophie e-mailed to ask whether she and Marc should bring some elk steaks to share tomorrow.”
    “If they want to do that, it’s fine by me, but he’s still not touching the grill.”
    Megan ducked back inside, laughing to herself.
    Nate looked over at Javier. “Ever tried elk?”
    Javier shook his head.
    “My brother-in-law goes elk hunting with a crossbow every fall. It’s good eatin’—nice and lean.” Nate took a swallow of his beer. “He and McBride brought down a five-hundred-pound cow this year. That’s what we call female elk, by the way—cows.”
    “You’re not letting that go, are you?”
    “Nope.”
    But Javier was only half-listening, talk of the barbecue putting his mind back on Laura Nilsson. Would she come? Would she recognize him? If she did, would she be glad to see him—or would she feel blindsided?
    And what will you say to her?
    What could he say to the woman who’d been in his thoughts for so long?
    He had no idea.
    Emily, Megan’s five-year-old daughter whom Nate had adopted, stuck her blond head out the door, then disappeared inside, her high little voice drifting back to them. “Grandpa Jack, they’re not shoveling. They’re just sitting on their asses like you said.”
    “Hey, old man, quit nagging!” Nate shouted toward the door, a grin on his face.
    From inside, Javier could just make out Jack’s voice. “Now, Miss Emily, you know there are words that only grown-ups can say, and
ass
is one of them.”
    Javier chuckled. “Your dad is something else.”
    “Yeah, he is, and he’s teaching Emily to talk like a soldier.” Nate took another drink. “Truth is, she’s been good for him. He loves that little girl. You should have seen the pride on his face when the adoption was final and her name became Emily West. She and Megan—they’ve helped fill the emptiness my mother’s death left inside him.”
    Javier could remember the day Nate’s mother had died. They’d been in Afghanistan,