The Right to Bear Arms: BBW Military Paranormal Romance (Wild Operatives, #1) (3 page)

If I could feed a bear, I could feed the lonely man down the road. It was the least I could do after he defended me. As my furry friend continued on his passage through my yard, I fetched the empty pan and rushed back inside to place it in the sink.

“I’ll bake him a... what should I bake him?”

I considered the American flag flying in his yard, the time served in the military, and the southern drawl that attracted me to him.

Apple pie. There was nothing more American than apple pie, unless I stenciled a bald eagle on the crust maybe. One glance at my half-empty fruit bowl foiled that. I’d given the last of my apples to my bear a couple of days ago.

“Pecan, it is,” I announced. Grinning, I fetched my recipe box and began to gather ingredients. Two hours later, I had a cooling pecan pie and a stupid plan that all depended on the man actually being home on a Saturday afternoon.

It cost another half an hour to ransack my closet for something that screamed confidence without telling him I was easy. After trying on a dozen tops with varying amounts of cleavage, I laughed at myself and tugged on a sports bra, teal racerback tank, and black yoga pants with a blue-green roll over top. The stretchy Lycra hugged my curves and drew positive attention to my ass, but the tank’s scoop neck front highlighted my boobs.

His dog announced my arrival by barking at me from the yard. The eager animal, beautiful with a lush brown and black coat and big shining eyes, loped back and forth by the handmade fence.

The fence was a work in progress, constructed entirely from thin tree trunks and thick branches. The unfinished side wall had a huge gap the dog charged through to reach me.

“Shit,” I muttered aloud, just as the shepherd came bounding toward me.

“Trigger!” My attention jerked from the animal as Russell’s authoritative voice rang out. He rounded the corner clothed in only jeans, which rode so low they exposed the carved muscle at his hipbones. My drooling had nothing to do with the pie in my hands, and everything to do with the hunk heading toward me. “How’s it goin’, Daniela?”

“Oh, just fine... Nice dog,” I murmured, feeling foolish.

The man was all muscle, with the physique of a fitness trainer at the gym. Or a boxer. What was I doing here? He probably had a girlfriend I didn’t know about who would flounce out in the shirt he wasn’t wearing. She’d show off her sex-tousled hair and bikini body while looking down her nose at the frumpy divorcee bringing pecan pie to her boyfriend. Rumor said he was widowed, but he lived such a private life at the end of the lane that it was all I knew of him. All anyone really knew about him, besides his fondness for charity and giving back to the community as a volunteer firefighter.

“He wouldn’t have hurt you. I swear, now that we’re both retired, he’s forgotten his manners along with his training. He just wanted to love you a little.”

Trigger dropped his haunches to the ground and sat beside Russ. He whined until I reached out to rub behind his ears. After that, he galloped merrily away.

“I brought a pecan pie. You know, to say thanks for last night. I realized I must have seemed really ungrateful for what you did.”

“Aw, it wasn’t anything big.”

He didn’t have a bruise on his face from when Michael hit him. Not even a minor red mark. When my ex hit me, he’d always left muscle-deep stains of color that lasted days.

“No, it was. You... you didn’t have to stop, but you did, and I really appreciate it. No one would have looked twice back home.” Too many neighbors had known and ignored it. The depressing thought threatened to deflate my mood, so I quickly shook it off and offered out the pie. “Anyway, I don’t mean to keep you—”

“You’re not keeping me,” he blurted out. “Was just finishing up some work out back, is all, but you’re welcome to come in. I planned to put some burgers on the grill...”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

His grin gave his face a youthfulness that brightened his chocolate brown eyes. “Nah, we’d enjoy the company, wouldn’t we, Trigger?”

The dog barked from across the yard, voicing his agreement.

“Thanks.”

Russ led me around to the back of the cabin where a respectable vegetable garden bordered the rear edge of a spacious lot. I caught sight of a few flowering fruit trees and recognized peach blossoms.

“Was the garden here too along with the fruit trees?” I asked.

“Nah. I did that. Ian planted an orchard out here back when he lived on this land. I just sort of took it over when I sold my old house and bought this off him,” Russ explained. He set the pie on the table beneath the shade. “Have a seat.”

I sank into a chair on the covered deck and watched him stack the firewood. His muscles flexed and bulged beneath the sheen of sweat. A tiny trickle ran down his sculpted back. I ached to wipe it away with a washcloth... beneath a steaming hot shower.

Despite my reservations about hitting on a widower, my mind had other plans, which involved mentally sketching out his body sans jeans. I moistened my dry lips with my tongue and watched him move around his yard until eventually, a green blur snatched my attention away.

“Just gimme a chance to shower, and I’ll be right back. You’re welcome inside if you—”

“I’m fine here,” I spoke up, offering him a big smile. “You have hummingbirds.”

“I do. I like to keep the feeders filled when their migration comes through this way.”

With the hummingbirds and occasional songbird as company, I relaxed on the deck while Russ showered inside. Trigger appeared at my side to nudge his furry head beneath my left hand, so I spent the rest of the time petting him until Russ emerged with a covered tray. He had more meat than one man could reasonably eat.

And he’d put on a shirt.
Dammit.

“Is there anything I can help you out with?”

“Hm?” He glanced over a shoulder at me. The man had a smile that could thaw ice and melt the coldest hearts. “Not really. I’ve got the grill covered.”

“But are you planning to make anything to go with this really impressive assortment of meat?”

“Uh, no.”

“Would you like something to go with it?”

Uncertainty flickered across his face. “Like what?”

“Rice, potato salad, pasta... something,” I offered.

“You’re offering to cook for me?”

“Sure. I baked for you, didn’t I?”

Something about my suggestion brought a perplexed raise to his brows. They knit in consternation before he gave a nod. “Whatever you want to make is just fine with me, Daniela.”

“Great. I’ll just rummage around until I find everything I need, if you don’t mind.”

He didn’t, so I entered his kitchen, washed my hands, and gathered all of the ingredients needed to make a potato salad and a few other sides. I’d just removed the macaroni and placed the cheesy garlic bread into the oven when Russ stepped up beside me. I began to worry that I made too much and had overdone it.

“God, that smells amazing. Been about forever since...”

He didn’t finish his thoughts, but his expression made sense to me. No one had probably cooked for him like this since his wife. No one but me. It created an instant link between us like the connection between my bear and me. I wanted to be the woman who made his meals.

“Anytime you want to come over and have dinner with me is fine, Russ. I’m still not used to cooking for just one.” I smiled. “I’m home by five or six every day.”

“I noticed that.” Russ cleared his throat and moved away to refill his dog’s bowl. Trigger had been giving him a sorrowful look. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is it you do for work?”

“Me?” I laughed and poured two glasses of sweet tea. “Nothing exciting, I assure you. I’m a loan officer at Prime Advantage Bank of Texas. What about you? You’re retired Army, right?”

“Yeah. Twenty-three years. Brought Trigger back with me when they retired him. Now I teach classes down at the gym and help out the fire department. Gives me something to do.”

Twenty-three years of service. I whistled and tried to estimate his age at a glance. He didn’t look over forty, his body honed and fit, as if his athleticism had stopped the clock and turned back time a few years. I didn’t see a trace of gray in his wavy hair.

“What kind of classes?”

“Self-defense. I throw in a few military combat techniques and give instruction on how to disable a man. Nobody will be an overnight brawler, but they’ll be able to take a guy down and run away for help.” He glanced at me, warmth filling his brown eyes. “Sometimes I give private lessons to young women with ex-assholes who don’t know when to let go.”

“I really wish you didn’t see that.”

“I’m really glad I did. You can tell me to shut up if it’s none of my business, but I’m making an honest offer, Daniela.”

“To teach me?”

He nodded his head. “Yeah. Do you have a gun in the house?”

“No. My dad tried to offer me one, but I don’t know the first thing about what to do with it. And... my ex had one, but he didn’t want me to learn how to shoot it.” He was probably afraid I’d take it and pop him with it. There were times I was tempted. Sometimes, I wondered if all those years I spent under his thumb made me as pitiful as I felt back then.

“You about done here in the kitchen?” he asked suddenly.

“I just need to take the garlic bread out.”

Russ disappeared and returned as I removed the last component of our meal from the oven. “That looks great, Daniela.”

He leaned a shotgun against the cabinet beside me. I stared at it.

“What’s that for?”

“It’s for you,” he replied.

“I can’t cook with a gun.”

“It ain’t for you to cook with, darlin’.”

While the burgers and hotdogs cooled, Russ took me out to the edge of the property where he introduced me to an enormous mound of soil as high as a person was tall.

“This is how you load it. I’m going to remove the shells and watch you do it now.”

“I don’t know what the hell you just did, Russ.”

So he repeated it again, slower this time, guiding me through each step down to removing the safety. Once I had four shells in the unwieldy firearm, he helped me into position with his strong hands. The same hands I felt in my dream, powerful working-man’s hands with rough finger pads toughened by a busy lifestyle.

“Don’t lean back, darlin’. It’ll knock you on your ass. You want the stock right here in this pocket in your shoulder.” Russ was a good teacher, or maybe I just liked the way his hands felt on me. “It’s going to kick back at you, just keep that in mind and fire it when you’re ready.” He cupped his hands over my ears.

This was crazy, but his low and encouraging voice gave me confidence. As instructed, I took a deep breath, let it out, and then squeezed the trigger. The butt of the shotgun struck me hard, an abrupt punch to my shoulder. I staggered back against him after underestimating the recoil. If not for Russ’ presence behind me, I would have landed on my butt in the dirt.

He caught me easily, and the secure embrace of his arms around my middle turned my knees into jelly. The excitement was a head rush that weakened my legs, born from the turn-on of having a smoking-hot man behind me and firing a gun for the first time. I liked it. I liked both feelings.

“Never saw firing a gun make a lady swoon before.”

“Maybe it’s not the gun,” I said. I told myself it wasn’t my imagination, and that his arms really did tighten briefly around me. With his hard chest against my back, I would have happily leaned against him all evening. I tilted my head back against his shoulder and breathed in the subtle scent of his aftershave.

“Wanna try it again?”

“Yes!”

I wasted another three shells into the dirt mound then Russ talked me through reloading. We went through the motions two more times before our growling bellies insisted we return to the porch.

He seemed as reluctant to part as I felt, but he pushed the gun back into my hands when I tried to offer it to him.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s yours now.”

“Russ, I can’t take—”

“The first rule of having any firearm is that you don’t point it at someone unless you mean to shoot it, Daniela. Remember that. Please take it. I’ll feel better knowing you have a way to protect yourself.”

With his shotgun beside my chair, we settled at the patio table and enjoyed his entree of cheese-stuffed grilled burgers. The heat of spicy pepper jack accompanied every bite, creating a symphony of flavors. My sweet tea was the perfect compliment.

“You told me you couldn’t cook.”

“I don’t consider grilling to be the same as cooking, darlin’. Not really.” He gestured toward the leftover potato salad on his plate. “Now that’s cooking. I try, hence having all the groceries for it, but it’s a hot mess when I’m done.  You can’t buy food like this from the store. ”

“Yes, you can. It’s called the deli at Wal-Mart.”

Russ shot me a look, but his good-natured amusement showed through his faux grimace. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, sure you can buy a tub of it from the store, but it’ll never taste the same as a meal made with love in your own kitchen.”

“I’ll agree with you there.” Russ and I chatted into the evening until the threat of mosquitoes chased us inside. There, he opened a bottle of peach brandy and we talked longer about our families — or rather, my huge family and his lack of one. Trigger wriggled in beside me and laid his head in my lap the whole time we talked.

“I’m sorry, Russ... I knew you were a widower, but I didn’t know it was so recent.”

A hint of a sad smile touched his lips. “Two years ain’t that recent. Not really. I sold the house after that, put in for my retirement, and moved out this way for the privacy. The big home and picket fence was always what Katie wanted anyway.”

And now he lived alone with his dog. My heart ached for the man who had served his country for two decades, only to lose the woman who mattered most to him. Life wasn’t fair, and Russ’ circumstances were a prime example of the universe’s cruelty.

Our talk turned to happier topics after that, and he told me stories about my landlord. Apparently, he and Ian were fishing buddies who met first as neighbors while living in military housing. Later, they served together in a unique cross-branch squad that wasn’t known to the public by name.