Boots on the Ground: Homefront, Book 1 Read Free Page A

far from her usual upscale, sophisticated scene as it could get. And despite everything, she couldn’t stop the excited grin that flashed across her face.
    She strode to the bar, her turquoise wrap dress feeling sexier and much more feminine than it had an hour earlier in the restaurant. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, fully aware that every eye in the place was fixed on her. She hadn’t felt this brazen since her early days as an undergraduate, when life was a series of never-before-tried mixed drinks and good-looking guys, long before the stresses of finals, medical school admissions, board exams, highly cited articles and her parents’ nagging questions about whether there were any potential husbands on the horizon.
    It wouldn’t kill her to have a beer while she waited for the mechanic, would it? She smiled at the approaching bartender. After all, one drink in a seedy bar wasn’t exactly going to derail her small-town social climbing.
    “What can I get you?” the thickly bearded man asked, but before she could reply, the man on the barstool beside her—whose camouflage coat was way too heavy for the bar’s warm and slightly humid interior—slapped his palm on the bar.
    “I’ll take care of this little lady,” he slurred, and flashed her an inebriated version of a saucy wink. “You order whatever you want, honey, and he’ll put it on my tab.”
    “Your tab was reached and breached a long time ago, Leroy.” The bartender offered Laurel an apologetic shake of his head.
    “I’ll have a Bud Light. And I need to use your phone, if you’ve got one. My car’s got a flat about a mile south of here and my cell has no signal.”
    “Yeah, only a few of the service providers have coverage out here. Let me get some fresh glasses. Then I’ll bring you the cordless from the office.”
    “Much appreciated,” she told his retreating back. She leaned her elbows on the burnished wood surface and had begun to study the photos taped up over the liquor bottles when Leroy slid his barstool closer, its legs loudly scraping against the floor.
    “What’s your name, darlin’?” His grin revealed tobacco-stained teeth, but his face was relatively unlined. Laurel suspected that he was a lot younger than his alcohol- and cigarette-damaged skin portrayed.
    “It’s, um, Jane.” She edged away from the scent of stale smoke that clung to his coat. Now she remembered why she preferred quiet wine bars with live jazz ensembles.
    “Now that’s a real pretty name.” He slid his hand so close to hers that their fingertips met. She fought the urge to flinch, not wanting to set him off. She glanced at the table immediately behind her, but its lone, mustachioed resident was buried in a game on his phone, completely ignorant of the activity at the bar.
    She craned her neck to see over the taps, looking for the bartender. How long did it take to get clean glasses?
    “My ex-wife’s name is Jane,” Leroy continued, openly leering at her as his fingers crept farther over hers. “But she wasn’t half as beautiful as you are.”
    “You told me your ex-wife’s name is Marianne,” a deep voice rumbled beside her. “And that she left you for the same reason this nice gal doesn’t want to talk to you—you’re a stinking drunk.”
    Laurel spun and came face-to-face—or more accurately, face-to-chest—with John Grady Reid.
    As Leroy retreated with a grumble, Grady moved in to rest one elbow on the bar beside her. His big frame seemed to radiate power, yet he was comforting rather than intimidating, and his reassuring smile immediately banished her anxiety.
    “I guess I could try some line about what an esteemed medical professional like yourself is doing in a place like this, but I’m sure ol’ Leroy probably gave you enough lines to last you for a month.”
    Laurel’s treacherous heart thrilled at the implication that Grady wanted to try a line at all. Maybe she hadn’t imagined the sexual tension in their meeting