The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,75

want to see what she sees. I’m on the left, sandwiched between Shepherd and Bensimmon. Some of us smile, others are straight-faced.

I hear Dakota’s sharp intake of breath when I reach over her shoulder and brush my fingertips over the glass. I’m so close I can feel the heat rising from her bare shoulder. “This was taken pretty soon after basic training. A bunch of boys trying to be men. We thought we were invincible.” A sharp pain flits through my chest. I point at Shepherd. “He didn’t make it home.”

Dakota gasps, her hand lifting to cover her mouth. “Wes, I’m so sorry.”

I nod. “It was awful. Especially”—I point at another guy—“for him. Hunter. Everyone was close, but some people just click and become brothers. Those two were brothers.” I lost touch with Hunter after he exited, but heard from Jason that he moved to Phoenix. I’ve made it a point not to keep in touch with Army buddies, but maybe it’s time. Maybe I can talk to them without it setting me back mentally and emotionally. Maybe I’ll give Hunter a call one of these days.

Dakota sniffles. I take my hand from the picture and touch her jaw, gently turning her head so I can see her. Her eyes are wet with tears, and one escapes, traveling down her cheek. Her capacity to feel anguish for a person she never met astonishes me, and something in my chest constricts.

My fingers are still touching her jaw, and my voice comes out husky. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

She shrugs. “Too late. I’m really sorry about your friend.”

I take a step back so she can turn all the way around. “He knew the dangers when he signed up. We all did.”

“It doesn’t make it any less sad.” Her face crumples and the unshed tears fall.

I can’t take it. I pull Dakota into my arms, hold her against my chest, and try like hell not to drown in her overwhelmingly sweet scent.

Her tears don’t last long. Soon she’s pulling away from my chest and wiping under her eyes. “Sorry about that,” she laughs softly and her cheeks bloom light pink. “I was just thinking about your friend, about what you’ve been through, and the next thing I knew I was crying.”

“Follow me.” I incline my head. She follows me to the kitchen. “I have just the thing for that,” I tell her, pulling the chilled wine from the fridge.

I hand her a glass and pop the top off a beer using a metal opener screwed to the wall. “Cheers.” I hold out the bottle and she clinks her glass against it.

“Alright,” she says. “I guess I’d better start what I came here to do.” She makes a face and walks over to her suitcase, bending down and unzipping it.

“I’ll make some dinner while you’re doing that.” I start the oven and open the fridge again, removing ingredients and setting them on the counter.

“You cook?” Dakota asks, stepping over the open suitcase and into the tiny laundry room off the kitchen. It’s just big enough for a side-by-side washer and dryer and sink. There’s also a door that leads to the back deck, and it’s nice to have when it rains and my boots turn into a muddy disaster.

“I cook a few dishes well, and a lot of other dishes poorly.” I grab a knife and begin dicing an onion.

Dakota’s laugh trickles out from where she’s bent over shoving clothes into the machine. “Are we having one of the dishes you cook well, or one you cook poorly?”

“Shit, I hope it’s the former, but I’ve been cooking for one for so long I may be wrong about it.”

Dakota adds a scoop of detergent from the box on top of the washer and closes the door. She regards the dials and then chooses a setting and hits the start button. She steps back into the kitchen. “Are you telling me you’ve never brought a woman here and cooked for her?”

“Never.” I scrape the diced onion from my cutting board into the cast iron pan. It sizzles in the butter, and my stomach turns over with a growl. Dakota drags in a breath. “Oh my God, that smells good. I definitely miss cooking. I’m like you. A few good dishes, many others not so well.” She peers into the pan, waving her hand over the steam to bring more of the smell to her. “Why haven’t you cooked for a woman? It’s quite the