Page 3 of Rough Ride

“Yep.”

He nodded and drove onto the land.

* * *

Eli stood on the front lanai of the house and watched Hammond Miller park the rental car. He had offered to pick them up at the airport, but Miller had insisted that Eli had too much on his plate to handle. He watched as Miller unfolded himself from the car. Lanky and tall, Miller scanned the area. Once a SEAL always a SEAL, Eli thought. Joe had genuinely liked Miller. He had said he was a good guy, a good father and even more importantly, he had been a fine Navy officer. But, what was gaining his attention wasn’t the man…but the woman with him.

The pictures Joe had of Crysta Miller hadn’t done the woman justice. She was tall…like her father, her skin a softer shade, almost golden brown—a sure testament to her Hawaiian blood. A wealth of curly hair was tied at the nape of her neck, but a few springy tendrils had escaped. She leaned back into the car to grab her purse, giving Eli an excellent view of a world class ass. It took him a second or two to force himself to look away. It wouldn’t be a good idea to get caught ogling a SEAL’s daughter.

“Eli St. John, I presume,” Miller said as he approached Eli.

Eli pushed himself away from the post and walked down the steps. “Yes, sir.”

“Please, call me Hammond, or better yet, Ham. Neither of us are in the service anymore.”

So, Joe had told him he had been in SARS. Eli should have figured he’d do that.

“I’d like you to meet my daughter, Crysta.”

She stepped up beside her father and Eli was jolted once again when she removed her sunglasses. He had known her eyes were blue, but in person, they were much more vivid. The color stood out even more against her golden-brown skin. Full lips curved slightly in greeting.

“Ms. Miller,” he said and dipped his hat.

She laughed. “Oh, my, what a nice greeting, but just call me Crysta. I haven’t been Ms. Miller since I stopped teaching last spring.”

He nodded. “I’m sure you two would like to get settled.”

Ham smiled. “Yes. It’s a long trip from DC to here.”

“How would you know, Dad? You slept for eight hours,” Crysta said as she turned to get things out of the car and stopped. His men were already pulling things out. She hurried forward and grabbed a box. “I’ll take care of this.”

She made the mistake of smiling at Mike, one of the younger men Eli had hired recently. Mike said nothing and Eli figured it was because the kid couldn’t. There probably wasn’t any blood left in his brain.

Crysta seemed oblivious though. She returned to stand beside her father and smiled. “Ready when you are.”

* * *

Crysta stepped into the kitchen and sighed. Lord, it was a work of art. Long counters lined each one of the walls; there was a six-burner gas stove, and an island with a separate sink and pot rack hanging over it. Joe had always said Crysta got her love of cooking from him and the kitchen proved that.

“I take it you couldn’t get rest?” Eli said. She turned and looked at him, trying her best to hide her reaction. The man was a tall drink of…well, not water. That was too bland for the delicious package of Eli St. John. He was taller than she was by a good three or four inches, had the sexy weathered look that cowboys had, and she guessed never really smiled. Why that appealed to her, she wasn’t sure. It might be that damned Aussie accent. Every time he spoke, she had to keep from sighing out loud.

“What?” she asked when he kept staring at her.

Now his mouth curved. Good God, the man was a menace. Just seeing that little smile left her dizzy.

“The kitchen, you approve?”

“Sorry.”

“No worries. Jet lag is a bitch.”

She nodded in agreement, even though she knew it had more to do with the man than the trip.

“And yes, I love the kitchen.”

She walked around and looked at the fixtures. It was evident that Joe hadn’t spared any expense. She knew it cost even more to get things over on the Big Island. Not everything was available in the islands, and she understood that most building materials were brought in.

“That’s right. You teach this kind of stuff.”

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