Page 9 of Trapped with the Covert Ops Soldier

“You know,” she said leaning back on her hands and crossing her ankles. “I am right here.”

Both men ignored her.

“She’s been tossing dynamite and scaring the shit out of fish for three months?” Smitty asked, gesturing at the lake.

“Wow, Smitty, you make it sound like I’ve been murdering people for fun.”

“What the hell do you want me to do?” the Sheriff asked him, running his hands through his hair. If he kept grabbing at it like that he was going to pull it all out. “Keep her in jail? I can’t. She’s one of only two doctors in town.”

“Sheriff,” Abby said. “If you don’t calm down your wife’s going to have to buy another self-help book.”

He glared at her. “This isn’t funny, Abby. You could kill yourself or someone else playing with those old explosives the way you do.”

“Does it look like I’m laughing?” Another snigger wiggled its way out. “Oh. Wait. I am. Okay, better question. Do I really look like I could hurt someone else?”

“The only person you’re willing to hurt is yourself,” Smitty said with no trace of mirth in him at all.

“Good grief. Did the two of you go to some let’s-rain-on-her-parade class or something?” She shook her head and sighed. “You got your money’s worth that’s for sure.” She got to her feet. “By the way, have you two met?”

“We sort of introduced ourselves to each other in town,” Smitty said.

“Does that mean you got further than first names?” She giggled. “Maybe first base?”

Both men looked scandalized. “What have you been smoking?” Smitty asked.

“Nothing, unfortunately.” She shook her head and started walking toward town.

“Where are you going?” Smitty asked.

“Home. I need a shower.” She sniffed her shirt sleeve. “I’ve discovered that no one else likes the combination of sawdust and fish as much as I do.”

“After that?” Smitty called out.

“The office. I have patients to see.” She lifted her right hand and wiggled her fingers good-bye.

“Do you want a ride?” he yelled.

“Nope.”

The walk would be good for her. The air here smelled sweet and held so many bird songs. She could feel her worries wilting, falling off, trailing behind her. Not gone, but not riding her like they did when she woke up.

It always felt like this after her morning ritual was done. But the nightmares always came back by nightfall.

Still, it was worth it for the few hours of peace it gave her during the day.

The Sheriff’s truck passed her. A minute later, Smitty’s Jeep crawled by.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” he called out the window.

She kept walking. “Stop mother-henning me. You don’t have the right equipment for it.”

“You’re a stubborn woman Abby.”

“What gave you your first clue?”

“The fact that you came back for a second tour of duty in Syria.”

So had he, and now he was in Bandit Creek, a long way from his home. “Why are you here, Smitty?”

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