that any combat veteran would have recognized immediately. But nobody in his family had ever been in the military, except for himself.
Keely did notice. She knew that Boone had been in the war, that he’d been a front line, Special Forces soldier. She knew that he was reliving some terrible memory. Keely knew about those, because she had her own. Without saying a word, her eyes communicated that knowledge to the taciturn man across from her. He frowned and averted his eyes.
He finished his coffee and got to his feet. “I’ve got to make a few phone calls,” he murmured.
“Keely made cinnamon buns,” Winnie said. “Don’t you want one?”
He hesitated uncharacteristically. “Bring me one in the office, with a second cup of coffee, will you?” he asked.
“Sure,” Winnie said.
“No.” His dark eyes slid to Keely. “You bring it,” he said.
Before she could answer him, he strode out of the room.
“Well!” Clark said, surprised.
“He’s in a mood to bite somebody,” Winnie said solemnly. “Boone’s a horror when there’s no audience to slow him down. If he disapproves of you dating Clark, he’ll make your life hell. I’ll take his dessert to him.”
“No,” Clark said. He looked at Keely. “You have to stop being afraid of him and stand up to him,” he told her. “This is a good time to start.”
Keely became pale. She hesitated and looked to Winnie to save her.
But Winnie hesitated, too. She frowned. “Maybe Clark’s right,” she said after a minute. “You’re afraid of Boone. He knows it, and uses it against you.”
Keely bit her lower lip. “I suppose you’re right. I’m a wimp.”
“You’re not,” her best friend replied, smiling. “Here’s your chance to prove it.”
“With your shield or on it,” Clark intoned dramatically.
Keely glowered at him. “I am not a Spartan.”
“An Amazon, then,” Clark compromised, and grinned. “Go get him!”
“We’ll be right here,” Winnie promised. “You can yell for help and we’ll come running.”
Keely had her doubts about that. Winnie and Clark loved Boone, but neither of them had ever been a match for his temper. If she yelled for help, they’d assume that Boone was bristling and ready for a fight, and they’d be under heavy pieces of furniture trying not to get noticed. Still, they had a point. She was almost twenty years old. It was time she learned to fight back.
She poured a cup of black coffee from the pot and took the cinnamon buns out of the oven. She put two of them on a saucer and added a napkin to her burdens. She glanced at her audience.
Clark flapped his hand at her.
Winnie mouthed, “Go on!”
She would have made a smart remark, but her heart was in her throat. It bothered her that Boone had asked her to bring dessert to him. Considering his reaction to her friendship with Clark, he had to be up to something.
* * *
SHE TAPPED NERVOUSLY on the door.
“Come in,” he called curtly.
She balanced the saucer holding the cinnamon buns on the cup of coffee and gingerly opened his office door, closing it with her back once she was inside.
It was a small, intimate room, with ceiling-to-floor bookcases on two walls, French windows opening onto a small patio and a fireplace with gas logs. The carpet was deep beige, the curtains echoing the earth tones. But the furniture was red leather, as if the very sedateness of the room commanded a touch of color. Boone looked right at home in a big red leather-upholstered chair behind his enormous solid oak desk. Over the mantel was a painting of Boone’s father. It was a prophecy of what Boone would look like in old age—with silver hair and a distinguished, commanding expression.
“You look like him,” Keely mused as she put the coffee and its accompanying dessert gently in a bare spot on the paper-littered desktop. Her hands were cold and shaking and the cup rattled in the saucer. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.
“Do I?” He glanced at the portrait. “He was a head shorter than I am.”
“You can’t see height in a painting,” she pointed out.
She didn’t want to argue. She started toward the door.
“Come back here,” he said curtly. It wasn’t a request.
It was now or never. She took a steadying breath and turned. “Winnie’s waiting for me.”
“Winnie?” he asked with a cynical smile. “Or Clark?”
She swallowed. Her hands began to shake again. She clasped them at her waist to still them. “Both of them,” she compromised.
He leaned back in the chair, ignoring the buns and the coffee.