“I don’t mean to make you feel badly about yourself. It’s just that sometimes we all need a kick in the pants to help us get going again. Living in denial isn’t a healthy place to hang out.”

“And you got your degree in psychology from where?”

She stared at him for a second, a flicker of hurt moving across her face.

Damn it. He was such a jerk. He turned back to the target. Put two rounds clean through the target’s forehead.

“That’ll show ’em,” she murmured under her breath.

Okay, so it might be a little obvious to take his frustrations out on the target, but it felt good. Already, the tension was draining from his shoulders. She’d been right to suggest this outlet.

“Want another turn?” he asked.

They shot a few more rounds, then returned the rental gun and left the shooting range. Tara walked slowly up the sidewalk beside him in concession to his limp. He hated that she had to adjust to his poky pace.

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” he asked.

“My dad and brothers are avid hunters. My father insisted we all learn how to shoot and he was rabid about gun safety.”

“Have you ever been hunting?”

“Just skeet and targets. I’m too soft-hearted to kill animals.”

Yeah, and here I am, a soldier. But not anymore. His career was gone. He’d loved the army. Loved the structured life. Without it, he felt adrift, purposeless. That was the root of his discontent. The loss of his identity.

But hanging out with Tara was starting to teach him there were other ways of being. She took each day as it came with good humor and a sense of adventure. She made him want to change. To let go of some of the restraint that had held him together for so long and just breathe.

Boone was so busy thinking about it that he didn’t notice the fissure in the sidewalk. The toe of his shoe caught on the cracked cement. He stumbled, lurched.

Tara put out a hand, caught his elbow, and stabilized him. He regained his balance. Shame burned his face. Her chest was pressed against his arm as she held him steady.

Her nipples hardened beneath her shirt. Or was it just his wishful imagination?

“You okay?” Her breath warmed his ear.

Goose bumps spread down his neck in spite of the late-morning sun. He clenched his teeth. Knock it off, Toliver. Just stop reacting to her. Easy to say, much harder to will his body not to have a normal male response to a sexy woman.

Gently, he shook her off. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I am.”

“You look…” She paused, narrowed her eyes.

Boone kept walking.

Tara hurried to catch up. “You can run but you can’t hide.”

“Watch me,” he called over his shoulder.

“I’m not letting you off the hook.”

He had to slow down because his knee was throbbing.

“What are you so scared of Boone?”

You. No one had ever turned him upside down the way Tara did. “Not one damn thing.”

“It’s okay to be afraid.”

No it wasn’t. Not for him. Didn’t she get that? He was the strong one. The protector. He wasn’t supposed to get hurt. If he wasn’t a soldier, then who the hell was he?

He stopped walking, turned to her on the quiet street of a small town he’d never been in before and would likely never be in again.

Tara stopped abruptly, mere inches from him. She titled her chin up and met his hard-edged stare without blinking. The way she looked at him made him feel…well, like the past was truly gone and all that mattered was the present. How did she do it? How did she live in the moment? He was envious of her skill and resented it at the same time.

“Boone,” she said, reading his mind. “You can set your own course in life. Be whoever or whatever you want to be.”

“I can’t be a soldier.”

“Not anymore, but you’ve already been there, done that. You’re beyond that. It’s time to move on.”

“How?”

“By understanding that it’s okay to be in transition. You don’t have to have all the answers all the time.”

“What if I can’t change?”

“You can. You are already changing. Two weeks ago would you have possibly imagined you’d be on a car trip with me?”

“No.”

“See there. You’re on the road to change.”

“Not willingly.”

“Reluctantly or not, you went along for the ride. You did it. You’re giving life a chance even if it feels like you’re still mired in the mud. You’ll get there.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because every day is a journey. We’re all a work in progress.”

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

“All the time,” she admitted. “But I don’t let it stand in my way.”

He didn’t believe it. She was one of the bravest people he knew. “What are you afraid of?”

“You,” she whispered. “This.”

The next thing he knew, she reached up, captured his face between her palms and kissed him on the lips, light and quick like a butterfly landing on a flower. Then she scurried, head down, into the mechanic shop, leaving Boone staring after her in amazement.

IF SOMEONE HAD asked Tara why she’d kissed Boone, she could have come up with only one answer that adequately explained her impulse.

He looked like he needed it.

The minute her lips had touched his, she’d felt his taut muscles soften. Heard his ragged intake of breath. Then, for the span of two heartbeats, he’d done nothing and she’d panicked. Right. He wasn’t interested in kissing her. She’d made a gigantic fool of herself.

Why, oh why, had she kissed him? She should have learned something from the previous night. Thankfully, she’d had the sense to pull the plug and run away. Yet she couldn’t help wondering. Would he have kissed her back if she hadn’t?

She sneaked a glance over at Boone as he paid the mechanic and she was surprised to see a pleasant expression on his face. Well, apparently she’d cheered him up at least. That was good.

Absentmindedly, she put a finger up to touch her lips and grinned slowly. Little by little, she was getting through to him.

He was a good guy who’d served his country. He deserved all the happiness in the world. He’d just lost his way and she was the one lucky enough to hold the light for him.

Remember that, Tara. Don’t get hung up on him. You can’t keep him. He’s not yours for the long haul.

That was okay. She could deal with it. If she could be an instrument in his healing, that was enough for her.

Or it would be if she just kept reminding herself of that.

“Heads up, Duvall.” Boone tossed her the keys.

She grabbed them with a one-handed catch.

He grinned. “Great reflexes.”

“Thanks.”

He turned to climb into the passenger seat and, as she went around to the driver’s side, she swore she heard him happily humming “Everyday Is a Winding Road.”

She was finally starting to get through to him. What more could a girl ask for?

THEY DROVE FOR four and a half hours.

The car should have been packed with tension after she’d kissed him, but instead, it seemed as if the kiss had actually knocked a big chunk of mortar from the emotional wall surrounding Boone.

The time flew by as they discussed everything under the sun. They talked about the best meals they’d ever eaten. For Boone, it was lobster in Maine when he’d spent a summer with his sister, Jackie, working onboard Jack Birchard’s ship, the Sea Anemone. For Tara, it was her mother’s homemade pizza.

They mused about religious beliefs and discovered that while they were both spiritual, neither was dogmatic. They were equally like-minded on politics, both holding moderate views. They talked about their favorite movies and discovered they both loved the National Lampoon vacation movies.

Boone was good company when he relaxed and they were having so much fun that Tara was startled to see the sign proclaiming Welcome to Tennessee. Wow, they were making good progress.

“I’ve got ancestors from Tennessee,” she said.

“No kidding? Me, too. My mother’s parents were originally from Knoxville.”

“You’re kidding? This is getting downright spooky that we have so much in common and never knew it. My kin were from Nashville.”

“Anyone in your family musical?” he asked.

“Other than singing bad karaoke? Nope.”

A few miles later, they drove past a mile marker that said Nashville 33 Miles and a billboard advertising the Civil War reenactment of the Battle of Shiloh for the upcoming Fourth of July weekend caught her eye.

“Ah, man,” she muttered under her breath.

“What is it?” Boone asked.

“I can’t believe that tomorrow is the first day of the Shiloh battlefield reenactment.” She waved a hand at the billboard. “We’ll be so near and I can’t go.”

“You’re interested in battlefield reenactments?”

“My maternal great-great-great-grandfather was killed at Shiloh and I’ve always wanted to visit.”

“It’s a shame you can’t go.”

“So close and yet so far,” she said glibly, trying to keep the wistfulness from her voice. Seeing the reenactment of the battle her ancestor had died in was on her own personal bucket list. She’d heard stories about the bravery of great-great-great-grandfather Sykes for years. His sacrifice stirred patriotism inside her. His blood traveled in hers and it made her feel connected to history in a way nothing else did.

“You really want to see the reenactment.” Boone put it as a statement, not a question.

“How do you know?”

“When you want something badly, you act like you don’t care.”

She turned her head sharply, surprised that he’d nailed that about her.

“I’ve been watching you for several weeks.”

“Oh, you have?” she said lightly, trying to ignore the thrill that shot through her at his admission and it was only then that she fully acknowledged how much she wanted his attention. When had this started?

“You’re not fooling me one bit.”

“No?”

“You act like you don’t care so that if what you want doesn’t happen you’re not disappointed. Must come from growing up in a big family.”

“You’re right,” she admitted. “When I was growing up, if I acted like I really wanted something, one of my older siblings would invariably get to it before I did.”

“You’re pretty easy to read, Duvall.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not a bad thing.” Boone paused. “Fact is, I wish I could be as open as you. It would make life easier.”

“I think you’re pretty darn terrific just the way you are,” she said.

“Ditto,” he said, his voice oddly husky.

Melancholy settled over her, but she batted it away. For one thing, she didn’t know why she was feeling it. For another, she wasn’t one to feel sorry for herself. “I really would like to see the battlefield someday.”

“A guy has to be on the ball around you,” he murmured.

“Oh?” She sneaked a glance over at him. His eyebrows were drawn up in a pensive expression. “What?”

“For all your openness, you’re much more complex than you appear on the surface.”

“Why, Boone Toliver, is that a compliment?” she teased.

“You’re surprising and fun and…well…I was putting you in the same category as my mother and you don’t belong there.”

“No kidding,” she said fiercely. “I would never ever abandon my kid. No matter what.” It twisted her up inside to think of Boone as a little boy, left without a mom. It had affected him deeply, even if he didn’t want to admit it. It had to have. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for him, growing up knowing that your own mother didn’t want you.

“You’ll make a good mother someday. You’ll be the cool mom and all the kids in the neighborhood will want to hang out at your house.”

That pleased her. “Hey, I’m not a pushover.”

“I know that. You’re something else, Tara Duvall.”

If, three days ago, someone had told her that she’d be in a car on her way to Miami with her grouchy neighbor and he would be saying such nice things about her, she would have laughed until her sides ached. But now? It was alarming how easily she’d grown accustomed to having him around.

Then she realized something extraordinary. She would never be the same after this road trip. Getting to know Boone on a personal level made her realize there were certain qualities she wanted in a man. Qualities she’d never searched for—or found, for that matter—before now. Boone epitomized everything she’d never known she’d wanted in a mate.

Heck, she’d never even known she was ready to start thinking about a mate until this trip.

He had his rough edges, no doubt about it, but didn’t everyone? Those sharp edges and prickly patches were part and parcel of who he was. He was gruff, yes, but it was just a camouflage to hide his vulnerability, and he could admit when he was wrong. Eventually. Not easy for a strong man who was used to being in charge.

The main thing troubling him was that he hadn’t found his place in the world now that he was no longer a soldier. She hoped that she was helping him with that. He seemed pretty directionless since his last knee surgery.

“So,” she said. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do when your knee heals?”

“If it heals.”

“It’ll heal. Third times a charm.”

“You oughta find a way to bottle it.”

“What?”

“That optimism of yours.”

“Would you buy some if I could?”

“Maybe.”

She laughed.

He scowled. “What’s so funny?”

“The fact that if you could buy optimism in a bottle you’re still hesitant to commit to it.”

“I read a study that said pessimists have a firmer grip on reality.”

“Probably, but reality is overrated.”

“The study said that, too. Obviously, the paper was written by an optimist.”

“You know, if I had just a few more months I bet I could turn you.” Tara slipped a sideways glance at Boone.

“Turn me?”

“Into an optimist.”

“You would have your work cut out for you.”

“Would have been fun to try.”

He was studying her intently. “I wish I’d gotten to know you better before. I missed out on some lively conversation.”

“Through no fault of my own. I tried knocking down those walls you’ve got built up around you, but it was a no-go.”

“I should have given you a fair shake.”

“As a friend?” She felt suddenly breathless, but had no idea why. Was he suggesting that if she wasn’t moving to Miami there might have been something between them? But if not for this road trip they would never have gotten to know each other. Such a shame the way things turned out.

“As a better neighbor,” he corrected, crushing any fantasies she once might have had about them being a couple. But hey, the door had closed on that a long time ago. Ah well, it was better this way, wasn’t it?

“You never did answer my question,” she said, realizing it wasn’t the first time he’d avoided the topic of his future. “What are you going to do with yourself when you’re healthy again?”

He squirmed in his seat. “Stupid knee.”

She wasn’t letting him off the hook with the knee excuse. “You know,” she said. “I went through something similar once.”

“You went through a bomb blast?”

She ignored that. “When I was eighteen and in secretarial school—”

“You were a secretary?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. It’s not rocket science.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I just can’t imagine you chained to a desk. That would be like putting a butterfly in a jar.”

“Anyway, I got mono.”

“That’s not quite the same as going to battle.”

“I know that. I’m not comparing your injury to my mono, I’m just trying to prove a point.”

“Continue.”

“For six weeks, all I did was sleep. My boyfriend who gave me the freaking mono dumped me—”

“What an ass.”

“Thank you. I thought so, too.”

“He did you a favor. You deserve better.”

A sweet tingling started in her stomach, spread lower as she took in his sultry gaze. “Anyway, I also got fired from my job—”

“This was the job as the chipmunk at the amusement park?”

“Yes.”

“Couldn’t very well run around in a chipmunk head with mono, now, could you.”

“Exactly. And I flunked out of secretarial school and had to move back home. When you’re sick and all this bad stuff happens to you, it’s really difficult to fight back. You start to think that this is the way your life is going to be from now on. It’s easy to get depressed and not see all the joys that are waiting around the corner for you.”

“You think?”

“Once I started to feel better, I began to realize something.”

“What’s that?”

“Getting mono was actually a real gift. I’d been studying to be a secretary to please my parents when what I really wanted was to style hair. So I enrolled in beauty school and the rest is history.”

“Glad it worked out for you.”

“Life’s little detours often lead us to our real destination.”

“You sound like a fortune cookie.”

“Clichés are clichés for a reason.”

“They’re trite for a reason, too.”

“I know my little story doesn’t compare to all the suffering you’ve been through, Boone, but what I’m trying to say is that everyone comes to a crossroads in their life, and it’s okay to sit and mull for a while until you figure it all out.”

“I’ve done a helluva lot of stewing,” he conceded.

“What is it you really want to do?”

“Be a soldier.”

“But that path is closed. What else are you passionate about?”

“Hell if I know.”

“What appealed to you about military service?”

“Knowing what’s expected of you.”

“You could find that in another line of work.”

“Tara,” he said. “I’m not you. I’m not a bright little ray of sunshine. I don’t know how to pick up the pieces of my shattered life and move forward as if nothing had happened. Every minute of every day the pain reminds me of just how broken I am.”

She couldn’t help it—she had to peek at him. The deepening twilight cast shadows over his face. His eyes were hooded again. The scruff of stubble darkened his jaw. His breathing was ragged and she realized he’d been sitting in the passenger seat a long time without stretching his leg, and he hadn’t taken a pain pill all day.

And here she’d been chattering glibly about mono. As if she could even begin to imagine the level of pain he’d suffered. Was still suffering. She could be so silly sometimes. No wonder Boone had never been her fan.

Up ahead lay an exit. Gas stations and fast food joints.

Tara did what she did best. She plastered on a happy smile, pretended everything was just fine and chirped, “Pit stop, coming right up.”

Thursday, July 2nd, 8:52 p.m.

“I’LL PUMP THE GAS,” Boone offered. It was the least he could do since she was doing all the driving. She was a good sport, too, putting up with his bellyaching. He should do something nice for her. Maybe he’d buy her something special.

“You do that and I’ll pop next door and grab us a bag of burgers.” She nodded at the fast-food hamburger joint near the gas station. “What do you like on your burger?”

“See if they’ve got a salad.”

“You need something more filling than a salad,” she argued.

“Hey, I gotta keep a handle on my weight while I’m out of commission.” He patted his belly. He might not have control over anything else, but he was determined to at least have control over his body.

Right. Good luck with that.

“I’ll surprise you.” She waggled her fingers at him over her shoulder.

He watched Tara walk away, hips swaying, her white shorts showing up brightly in the dusk and felt himself harden.

Classy, Toliver. Real classy.

He just had to hang in there. They were less than a day away from Miami. By this time tomorrow they would be going their separate ways. Forever.

Why that thought ate at him, he had no idea.

That wasn’t the truth. He did know why. It was because of how he felt when he was with her. Hopeful. She made him want to do better, be better.

Not to mention that she was hot as the Fourth of July rockets they were selling at the fireworks stand across the road. He should never have kissed her. Things were going along just fine until he’d kissed her in that cornfield, completely changing the sulky-war-vet-versus-sunny-ditz thing that had up until then kept them apart. When you slapped a label on someone it was easier to dismiss her, but spending this time in close proximity with Tara there was no label on earth that he could stick on her. She was unique.

He finished pumping the gas and holstered the nozzle just as Tara returned with a delicious-smelling brown paper bag.

“Guess what?” she said.

“We’re going to need arterial bypasses after dinner?”

She laughed as if his joke was truly funny. “There are picnic benches and a pretty little pond behind the gas station. Let’s go sit and eat. I saw lightning bugs. I love lightning bugs.”

Of course she did. Lightning bugs were just like her, bright and pretty and temporary.

“This way, soldier.” She headed off again, leaving him no choice but to follow her if he wanted something to eat.

He had to admit it was nice under the trees, the sound of frogs croaking, the flicker of the lightning bugs, the cool evening breeze blunting the highway noises. He sat down on the far corner of the cement picnic bench, angling his right leg out straight.

Instead of sitting across from him as he’d anticipated, Tara plunked down next to him, sitting so close he could feel her body heat. Her long, slender fingers, the nails painted a sweet salmon, unfurled the paper bag.

Disconcerted, he quickly glanced away, only to find himself peering down the V-neck of her shirt that revealed some amazing cleavage. She was just the right size. Not too big. Not too small. The size of ripe navel oranges. He loved oranges.

Purposely, he stared out across the pond. In the distance, some early fireworks popped and bright star-bursts of yellow, green and red streaked into the night sky. Saturday was the Fourth of July. The day his sister, Jackie, was marrying that coastie.

“I got you a chicken wrap,” Tara announced, her fingers curled around the paper-wrapped sandwich. She settled it in front of him, her graceful hand moving up the sandwich in a delicate stroke, those delectable fingers plucking at the paper as she undid the wrapping.

What was wrong with him? He was getting jacked up over a hand.

“I can unwrap it myself,” he growled. “It’s my knee that’s out of commission, not my hands.”

She raised her palms in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. Didn’t mean to offend.”

Crap! He’d done it again. Gotten crabby because she’d unwittingly stirred him. It wasn’t her fault she was so damned sexy.

They ate in silence, watching the fireworks and the lightning bugs, listening to the night noises and eating their sandwiches. It had been a long time since he’d had someone to share meals with and even though he was loath to admit it, he enjoyed the companionship. And she’d forgiven him again. She was munching her food with a smile on her face.

Another couple came strolling through the spot, holding hands, and they settled in at the next picnic table. They were both dressed in Civil War garb. The man was in a replica rebel uniform and the woman wore a bonnet and ankle-length calico dress.

“They must be reenactors headed for Shiloh,” Tara whispered. She turned her head and the fruity scent of her hair drifted over him, enthralling him.

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