Read Thunder Running for Free Online Page B

all.”
    â€œBut those are love letters, Chance. She says so herself, they’re all full of dreams and handsome this and brave that and fighting for our country, blah blah vomit.” She rolled her eyes.
    â€œGirl’s a romantic. She’s homeschooled, and I think her parents are serious lockdown religious types. I haven’t replied to her in months, but she keeps writing. Maybe I should’ve stopped it, but the content is pretty wholesome and I haven’t encouraged her. It seems like an outlet she enjoys and she’s not bothering me, so I left it.”
    â€œWhy should I believe you?” she asked, but the words had no bite. She already knew the answer.
    â€œYou’re welcome to read every last one if it’ll reassure you. They’re the innocent fantasies of a sheltered teenage girl, written to a fairy-tale soldier prince she’s dreaming will turn up on her doorstep and whisk her away from her overbearing parents. I’m just his stand-in. She’s never even seen my picture—she wouldn’t know me if she fell over me in the street.”
    â€œOh.” Sheepishness froze her in place, her elbows pinned tight to her sides. She glanced at the discarded bouquet with a deep pang of regret. “I probably should’ve guessed she hadn’t met you. No one who had would write sappy stuff like she does.”
    His lopsided smile was full of forgiveness she didn’t deserve. “Guess I shouldn’t expect any lovey-dovey letters from my wife when I deploy next month, huh?”
    â€œHow about I cross out Jessica’s signature and write my name underneath?”
    â€œTopless photos would be better. No writing necessary.”
    Her breath caught in her throat. That was the most overt reference either of them had made to the ferocious sexual attraction that had pulled them together and held them there when they first met, and it punctured the uncomfortably polite wall standing between them.
    It was only a bullet-size hole—not a window, or even the jagged opening left by a fist—but it was enough to let a little light shine through.
    For the first time all day, Tara smiled.
    Chance scooped up the bedraggled bouquet and handed it to her. “Feels kind of obvious to say these are for you, since you’ve probably guessed I’m not in the habit of buying myself flowers.”
    â€œI figured. But thank you, they’re beautiful.” And they were, all yellow and orange blossoms and dark green leaves. She thought some of them might be marigolds—she knew zilch about flowers. After running the pad of her thumb across a couple of silky petals she leaned in to sniff them, but came up frowning.
    â€œDo these smell kind of…burnt?”
    â€œI think that’s coming from the kitchen.”
    She smacked her palm against her forehead, then pivoted so fast her bare feet squeaked on the floorboards. “The damn meatloaf’s burning.”
    â€œIt can’t be that bad.” Chance was on her heels as she hurried into the kitchen. “The smoke alarm hasn’t gone off.”
    â€œI took the batteries out.”
    â€œUh, why?”
    â€œCall it a hunch.”
    She dumped the flowers on the kitchen table and wrenched open the oven, unleashing a billowing cloud of smoke. Immediately her throat itched and her eyes burned and she instinctively jerked backward, slamming against the hard wall of Chance’s chest. He wrapped one arm around her waist and stretched the other to shut the oven door, then turn off the thermostat.
    He felt solid and still against the spluttering, wheezing coughs juddering through her ribs, his touch both comfortingly familiar and exhilaratingly new. He turned her to face him and put his hands on her cheeks, his grassy green eyes fixed on hers.
    â€œAre you okay?”
    She nodded, the hint of detachment in his tone reminding her that he was a medic. These palms against her face, so dry and