Almost Perfect (12 page)

Although that had been easier to do while wandering the galleries. Sitting on a crowded balcony with nothing but a very small table between them, he felt a low hum of awareness start deep in his belly.

"So," he said when she finally closed her menu, "what do you think of Santa Fe?"

She laughed, tipping her head so the sun shone off her eyes. "A part of me thinks I've died and gone to heaven."

"And the other part?" He shifted sideways, creating more space between her legs and his.

"Is a little overwhelmed." She turned as well, so they both looked out over the plaza. A child threw a ball for a Jack Russell terrier near the Civil War monument. Vendors from the various pueblos were out in force, selling their jewelry on blankets in front of the Palace of the Governors. The bell at St. Francis Cathedral proclaimed the hour of one o'clock. "I never should have promised Christine and Amy I'd get a piece of my work in a gallery out here. I should have started off at one of the galleries back home and worked my way up to the big time."

"Christine and Amy?"

"My two closest friends in all the world. You'd like them." She wrinkled her nose in a playful manner. "They're as pushy as you about wanting me to put my neck on the chopping block."

"Maddy"—he shook his head—"I refuse to believe you're not good enough. You were fantastic back in high school, and you've had fifteen years to mature in your work."

She sighed, and some of the tension he'd seen earlier returned. "Do you think we could talk about something else over lunch, so that I have some hope of actually eating?"

"All right. What would you like to talk about?"

"You."

He laughed dryly as he toyed with the salt and pepper shakers. "A boring subject, I promise you."

"Then bore me." She shifted back to face him, folding her arms on the table as she leaned forward. "Please! It'll get my mind off my nervous stomach."

He stared at her eager face and felt a tug of need so strong it wiped all thought from his brain.

Fortunately, the server arrived and plopped their drinks down on the table. "Here you go. Are you ready to order?"

Joe gave himself a mental shake. "I'll have the Hatch green chile cheeseburger."

"And you?" The woman turned to Maddy.

"Oh. Let's see." Straightening, she opened the menu again. "It all sounds so good." Scanning the options, she struggled to make a decision. "Okay, I'll have the soft chicken tacos. Can I have extra cheese? And the jalapenos on the side?"

"Absolutely." The woman snapped her order book closed and moved away.

"Okay, where were we?" Maddy turned back to Joe, determined to keep the pleasant mood going. "Oh yes, talking about you. Tell me about running the camp. Do you enjoy it?"

"Yes and no." His gaze dropped to the finger she was running around the rim of her wineglass before he looked away and took a swallow of ale. "No, because I miss the hell out of being in the Rangers. Yes, because…" He hesitated as color climbed up his neck. "This is going to sound hokey."

"What?" She leaned forward, remembering a time when he'd shared things with her that he would never share with others. She realized she missed that. He'd always had so many interesting facets once he opened up. "Come on," she coaxed. "Tell me."

He straightened the linen-wrapped silverware and turned the beer bottle so the label faced him. "I like the kids. They give me hope."

"Hope?"

"For the world. That's hard to hang on to sometimes with so much hatred out there. God, the things I've seen…" He shook his head. "I miss being a part of the action. Not just the adrenaline rush of being on a mission, but feeling like I'm making a difference, like I'm doing something to make the world safer." He gazed back out at the plaza, watched the little girl playing fetch with her dog. "What I don't miss is looking into old eyes filled with mistrust in the faces of children. Or worse, the kids who are like children the world over, young, innocent, and happy one minute, maimed bodies the next. Jesus." He scrubbed his hands over his face, shuddered, then rolled his shoulders. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Maddy laid a hand on the table in front of him, wanting to touch, but not sure it would be welcome. "You wouldn't be human if that didn't affect you."

"Yeah." He tried to laugh, but the sound held no humor. "I guess it's taken me a while to decompress. Actually, strike that. I'm not sure a man ever decompresses from that. Or if he should. But when the camp fills up with children, most of who have never been touched by all life's ugliness… it feels good. Really good."

He smiled that crooked smile of his. And when his dark eyes met hers, Maddy swore she heard a thud as her heart hit the floor. Just like that, she fell smack-dab in love with Joe Fraser all over again.

Startled, she sat back, her pulse racing. No, it couldn't be love. Love happened slowly, grew over time, and endured. It wasn't like a light switch that you turned on, then off, then back on again. Did that mean she'd never fallen out of love with him? Was this an echo from the past, or something entirely new?

She blinked at him, remembering the intensity of what he'd once felt for her. He'd actually overwhelmed her with it at times. Did a part of him still feel traces of that for the impulsive girl she'd once been?

Fortunately, their lunch arrived, saving her from saying something stupid.

"So… then…" Her hand trembled slightly as she spooned salsa into the tacos. "You're happy running the camp?"

He shook salt and pepper over a mammoth burger heaped with chopped green chiles. "During the summer, when the kids are there, yeah. The rest of the year it drives me crazy. There just isn't enough to do, and man does not live on skiing alone."

"You couldn't use the camp for other things the rest of the year?" She took a bite of taco and nearly moaned with pleasure at the sharp, spicy flavors.

"Actually, I've been toying with an idea."

"Oh?" She waited while he chewed and thought even that was sexy—all those strong muscles in his face working together.

"Okay." He swallowed. "You can't mention this to my mom."

"Is it something she wouldn't like?"

"The contrary, actually, which is why I want to think about it before I mention it to her. I want to be sure she's physically up to having the camp open year-round. I mean, God, the woman's
old
. Which shocked the heck out of me when I came here to recuperate. When did that happen? I've seen her on a regular basis over the years. How could I not notice?"

"You were busy chasing bad guys?"

"That's no excuse," he insisted. "Do you know she was one step away from having to sell the camp when I agreed to take over as director? She loves that camp. Kids are her life! If I hadn't gotten shot in the knee, she'd have lost everything. The camp, her home, and a good chunk of her heart. After everything she's done^for me, I absolutely will not let that happen."

Maddy's heart took another hard bounce on the floor. "So"—she cleared her- throat—"what's your idea?"

A smile teased up one corner of his mouth. "A boot camp for civilians."

"A what?"

He popped a tortilla chip into his mouth as the smile reached his eyes. "There's already a few of them up and running. Former special-ops guys giving civilians a taste of the physical training we go through. Some of the camps are geared toward physical fitness for adrenaline junkies. Others offer group programs to corporations for employee team building. That's where the Rangers excel, working as a team. I think the concept of 'no man left behind' is sadly lacking in corporate America."

"I think you're right. And the idea sounds great."

"So far that's all it is, an idea in my head, but I'd like to pitch it to Socrates."

"Who?"

"Corporal Derrick Harrelson, nicknamed Socrates because he's always spouting philosophy."

"Did you have a nickname?"

"We all did."

"So, what was yours?"

"Promise not to laugh?"

"No, but tell me anyway."

"Scout."

She frowned. "Because you're part Indian?"

"No." His cheeks darkened. "After the mess I got into over the stolen car, I went a little overboard for a while, determined that would be the last time I ever disappointed the Colonel. So every time some of the guys tried to stir up trouble off base I served as the voice of reason. Or, in their words, the wet blanket. Finally one of the guys told me to quit being such a damn Eagle Scout, and it stuck."

"Eagle Scout? You?" She snorted with laughter.

"Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction. I did eventually loosen up a bit, but by then it was too late."

"So tell me about Socrates." She dipped a chip in the salsa.

"We served in the same battalion and got pretty tight. Now that I'm out, he's making noises about not reupping. His current hitch is almost over, so I thought maybe the boot camp was something we could do together. I need to think it through, though. Be sure before I ask Mom to put up with a camp full of people year-round."

"It sounds exciting." She found his enthusiasm contagious. "If you decide to do it, let me know. I'd be happy to help design your promotional material."

"What?"

"I took a few graphic art classes at UT. I'm really good at layout and design. I'd be happy to help."

"Ah…" He raised a brow but said nothing else.

She felt the instant shift in mood, like a wall had dropped between them, and realized she'd taken their truce one step too far. "I mean…"—she back pedaled quickly—"if you want any help."

He polished off the last of his burger. "I'll think about it."

She tried not to show her disappointment, but her lunch had lost some of its flavor. Pushing the plate away, she struggled for a way to get things back on a friendly footing. When the check arrived, she reached for it. "Why don't I get lunch as a thank-you for showing me around?"

"Absolutely not." Joe's hand came down over hers. Heat raced up her arm at the contact. He had large, powerful hands, and his fingers easily circled her wrist. "Here's the deal. I'm getting lunch, but there's a condition. Before we go back to the camp, you will show your portfolio to one gallery."

"I'd prefer to treat you to lunch." She tried to tug the check out from under his hand.

His grip tightened painlessly, just enough to make her aware of the strength he possessed. He leaned close, his gaze intent and his voice smooth as tempered steel. "This is not negotiable.''

"Joe…" She laughed nervously, her whole body tingling at his nearness. "Come on. Be reasonable. I'll show my work when I'm ready."

"Maybe I don't feel like being reasonable."

"I told you—"

"I know. But I have just the place in mind." He plucked the check out from under their joined hands and reached for his wallet. "It's small, unassuming, and well outside of Old Town. If they reject you, no biggie. At least you will have gotten your feet wet."

"That's all I have to do?" She nearly protested the loss of contact. "Get my feet wet?"

"That's it."

"What if they like my work? I don't want to sign an exclusive if the place is a dump."

"It's not a dump. It's perfectly respectable." He handed some money and the check to the server. "It's just not as highbrow as the galleries on Canyon Road. Besides, you don't have to say yes to the first offer you get, but having one gallery interested will give you more clout with the others."

"True." She took a deep breath. "Okay. You're on."

Chapter 8