Page 33 of Trapped with the Covert Ops Soldier

She allowed a small smile to curve her lips. “Not telling.”

Chapter Eight

Abby should have knownher afternoon was going to stink given the depressing discussion at lunch. Every single patient she saw had something to say, a piece of advice or out-and-out orders for her. Many of them were suspicious of Smitty for no other reason than he was a newcomer to town. Others thought she’d done something illegal or immoral while overseas at that bloody rock pile they all called Syria and brought whatever trouble she’d gotten into home with her.

It annoyed the crap out of her.

Then her dad, a virtual walking thundercloud, showed up and she gave serious consideration to signing up for a third tour.

She washed her hands, then invited him back to her office. “What’s up, dad?” she asked as she took the seat behind her desk. He ignored the other chair in the room.

“I know what happened yesterday. Someone needs to die,” he growled, all six feet four inches of pissed off rancher.

“Really? Who might that be?”

“The moron who tried to kill my baby. Who is he, honey?” He shook his head. “I don’t care what you did to start all this, just let me finish it.”

“What I did?” she asked, her hands clenching into tight fists. “WhatIdid?” Her voice rose. “I didn’t start anything with anyone.”

He frowned and tilted his head to one side. “But...over there in—”

Her snort interrupted him. “Most of the people I served with over there are dead.”

He rocked back on his heels like she’d decked him.

“What about this Smitty guy?”

“Smitty is the only reason I’m alive. He killed at least a half-dozen insurgents to protect me.”

“So, you really don’t know who took a shot at you?”

“No,” she said enunciating every word carefully. “I don’t.”

He went silent, his mouth tight and unhappy. “Time to come home. We can protect you better there.”

Home. Her parents, her brothers, her room with the curtains and wallpaper she put up with her mom when she was twelve.

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