Romance for your wild side

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Miranda waited just outside security at Nashville International Airport with her arms crossed, trying to hold back the excitement ready to bubble out of her. She hadn’t seen Jack in three weeks, the longest they’d been apart since they met six months earlier. A rush of people approached the security area, headed toward ground transportation and baggage claim. Miranda bounced on her toes and scanned each face, looking for the handsome man who belonged to her. She didn’t have to wait long.

When Jack turned the corner and spotted Miranda’s truck parked at the curb across the street from his father’s house, his heart took a triple beat. He’d planned on checking in with Jen before heading straight to Warrior Homes, sure that was where she’d be spending her time. But Miranda had come to him. He wasn’t sure if he should be excited or unnerved. He entered the house, ears perked for her voice. It was coming from the kitchen, and she sounded happy. Upbeat.

Miranda had stayed away one more night to do as Marty had suggested, get her head right before she faced Gypsy again. Now, she took a deep breath and stepped into her trailer. Gypsy looked up from her laptop at the kitchen table. Her gaze was hopeful but reserved. “Hey.” “Hey.” Miranda closed the door and tossed her duffel on the sofa where Gypsy had folded all the sheets and blankets and piled them in a corner.

Jack took a deep breath of the thin, icy Denver air and raised his hand to knock. Roman Steele’s front door was a gorgeous, hand-carved slab of wood. The home itself was a modern marvel of steel, glass, and aged wood, situated on a hillside with a view of the Rockies. Easily worth millions. The door opened to Roman’s curious stare. He wore old jeans, a faded T-shirt, and bare feet, yet somehow still had a presence that said he was always in charge. “Jack.

Miranda eked out the last two feet of welding wire along the connection of one storage container to another, creating a double-wide space of sixteen feet the length of the forty-five-foot metal box. This would make a nice open living space for someone. A veteran who’d given up his nice, normal, comfortable life to go off and fight in a war that ultimately allowed Miranda and every other American to live their own best life.

It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since Miranda had sped away from him, and Jack already felt like he’d been hit by a truck, bruised and achy. And guilty. So damn guilty. He was still torn over whether or not to believe she was involved. He’d even gone to the jail to confront Alex, but he’d refused to see Jack. He turned onto his father’s street and spotted what Jen said Jack had to see for himself—spools and spools of welding wire piled in his father’s driveway.

Miranda pulled down the tailgate of her truck and sat on the edge. Spur’s parking lot was mostly empty but for the cars of the prep cooks and opening bartender. She was anxious to hear what Jack had to say about the arrest, but something about his choice of meeting place didn’t sit right with her. He should have made dinner plans or asked her to his hotel. The bar’s parking lot was just…odd. As if he would base where they went next off this conversation.

Jack sat in the swing on the front porch of his childhood home, staring blankly at the sidewalk. He felt numb. His mind had stopped spinning, only to haze over. Jen pushed open the screen door and joined him on the swing, offering him a Corona with a lime. “Dad still napping?” he asked. She nodded, squeezed her own lime, and took a long drink of her beer. Good. Jack didn’t want him to hear any of this.