she turned to his father. “Your wife said you might enjoy an avocado cupcake. We ran out earlier in the evening, but I managed to set aside a couple for you.”
Before his father had a chance to answer, she ducked into the truck, and then was out again, a square of pink cardboard in hand. “I hope you like them,” she said with another smile.
William Smith looked down at the box, then up at Layla. Vance almost laughed. Clearly he wasn’t the only Smith whom she could disarm. “I...uh, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Vance’s father hesitated, glanced at Vance. “I should get back. Help your mother.” He stepped toward the shadows, then turned around. “Son...” Words seemed to fail him.
“Yeah?”
“If I—” He stopped, started again. “If I don’t see you before you...return, stay safe.”
Vance gave a curt nod.
His dad now turned to Layla with a ghost of a smile. “And you, young lady. Word of caution. Be careful with this one.”
Hearing it as an insult, Vance bristled. “That’s right. My father never could bring himself to trust me not to do the wrong thing.”
The other man shot him a look, his own temper clearly kindling. “You never gave me much—”
“I trust him,” Layla said, her voice emphatic. “You should know why.”
His father blinked. “What?”
Vance stared at her. What? “Don’t—”
“He was wounded trying to save my father’s life,” Layla said. “You should know that. Your son’s a hero.”
“I...” The older man glanced between Vance and Layla.
“But before that, my dad wrote me letters. He was a colonel, and he told me about the men under his command. ‘There’s something special about his hands.’ He wrote that to me about Vance. ‘Or maybe it’s his heart that makes the difference,’ my father said. ‘He’s saved soldiers I thought would never survive.’”
Jesus. More emotion roiled in Vance’s belly. Saved. That was all gone now, wasn’t it? He’d lost his fucking battlefield luck like he’d lost so much else. The ranch, his family, the fiancée he’d been sure would meet with their approval. A right move, for once. His body vibrated with the tension of holding back the urge to punch the daylights out of something. He’d take off running, he would, if he thought he had a hope of escaping the mess that was inside him.
His father was staring at Layla now, clearly nonplussed. “Well. I’m sorry to hear about your loss.”
“Thank you,” she said.
With a quick glance at Vance, he grabbed the tied-off bag of garbage. “Good night.”
She smiled up at him, guileless. “Goodbye. I won’t forget meeting you, Mr. Smith.”
And at that—a kind word regarding Layla’s dad, but nothing nearly as nice for his son—Vance’s father left. Left them alone.
Left Vance with the war that was raging inside him. Left Layla, who looked as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
In seething silence, Vance climbed into the food truck. She followed suit. In the driver’s seat he sat for a moment, the fingers of his right hand tight on the steering wheel as he tried to separate the tangle of feelings coursing through him.
A skirmish with his father. Fitz and Blythe. Layla in his arms, slow dancing to “Love Gone Wrong.”
He’s saved soldiers I thought would never survive.
Glancing down at his “healing” hands, he tightened his fingers on the wheel. “When we get back to the beach house,” he told Layla, his voice thick, “you stay clear.” He was ready to blow, past the point where he could extinguish flames.
“Why?”
He didn’t dare look at her. They might not make it as far as Crescent Cove if he did. “I’m on the edge of control. You get too close and it’s going to be the green flash, baby. Our very own unique natural phenomenon.”
She sucked in a quick breath.
“Yeah,” he said, answering the unspoken question. “We’ll both burn.”
* * *
VANCE DROVE AWAY FROM the ranch without waiting for Layla’s response. His muscles were tense, his mind whirling, a maelstrom kicked up by the day. His companion stayed silent, but that didn’t mean she was quiet. In the darkness the sound of her breathing brushed down his spine like a touch. She squirmed in her seat, moving restlessly and, Jesus, he swore he could detect the soft swish of smooth flesh on smooth flesh when she crossed her legs.
It made him sweat.
Instead of driving the truck to the parking lot of Captain Crow’s, he took it straight to No. 9, bumping along the crushed-shell track, then braking in the driveway. He jumped out and