Naughty Heroes

Chapter One

Chapter One

Former U.S. Marine Sgt. Mitchell McCoy stared at the faded sign hanging high above Dex’s roadside bar in rural Kentucky. Some of the paint had worn off completely due to years of relentless weather, and Dexter had been dead for years, but no one bothered to change the name. Wouldn’t matter if they did. It would always be known by the locals as Dex’s.

This wasn’t one of those fancy roadside bars that populated the more prosperous areas. This was a local watering hole where the beer and liquor flowed, and the kitchen produced a limited menu. It was always filled to capacity on Friday and Saturday nights.

He’d never thought he’d find himself back in Mission Creek again.

It had been eight years since he’d stepped on a Greyhound bus one rainy summer morning and left it all behind, determined to make something of himself. He’d wanted to break the legacy of alcoholism and despair that had spawned him. And he had.

But now he was back.

“Just do it.” Like many of the missions he’d been on during his years of service, he didn’t necessarily have to like what he was about to do. He just had to do it.

His leg ached after driving for so long. He hadn’t even gone by the house yet. He shoved that thought out of his head to concentrate on the here and now. Best to get down to the business of why he’d come home.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to take a step forward. As always, his left leg protested, but he was used to it and ignored the pain. The more he worked it, the stronger it would get. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

The door opened when he was a couple steps away. Loud country music assailed his ears just before a man stumbled out, almost plowing straight into him. Mitch caught him before he could do any real damage. “Hey, buddy. You okay?”

The guy looked at him through bleary, bloodshot eyes and blinked. “Why am I outside?”

Before he could decide how to get his keys from him without starting a fight—no way he was letting the guy drive loaded drunk—the door opened again and another guy stepped out.

“Randy. Wait for me, man.” The newcomer gave Mitch a cool stare. “Problem?”

Mitch raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “None. Just making sure he wasn’t planning on getting behind the wheel.”

“I got him,” the guy assured him.

Leaving them to it, Mitch opened the door and was immediately blasted by the sound of country music and loud voices, the smell of sweat, liquor, and fried food, and the flash of lights. He threw his arm over his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He fought the urge to duck and roll to safety.

“In or out?” a gruff voice asked.

Mitch slowly lowered his arm and studied the guy sitting by the door. “In.” He vaguely recognized the man, but it had been a long time and he couldn’t be certain. He moved out of the way, swearing under his breath when his left boot dragged slightly over the hard wood floor. He was working hard not to do that, but he was tired after the long drive and more than a little stressed.

And it wasn’t because he was worried about what he’d come home to do. Not directly. It was because she was here. Sara Leigh Hawkins. He’d been warned she worked here now. Although, he found it difficult to imagine shy, quiet Sara working in a bar.

But he hadn’t imagined she wouldn’t wait for him, would stop writing him after only two letters, would never call or email. And he’d certainly never imagined she’d marry another man.

But times changed and so did people. Neither of them were the same person they’d been when they were teenagers.

He made his way to an empty table near the bar, not wanting to join the throngs of people clustered there. He always wanted his back to the wall where no one could come up behind him and he could see the entire room. Leaning back, he stretched his bad leg under the table and absently rubbed it with his hand. The muscles were stiff and sore. What he really needed was a hot bath and a decent night’s sleep.

He should have gone home, but he wasn’t ready to face the ghosts that resided there. Better to get right down to work.

The band announced they were taking a break to the moan of the crowd. Before the complaints grew too loud, the jukebox kicked in with an old Garth Brooks song.

A waitress moved toward his table, and all the breath left his body like someone had kicked him in the stomach. Sara strode toward him with a tray of drinks balanced on one hand. The jeans she wore looked as though they were painted on. She was no longer the slender seventeen-year-old he’d left. No, she was a goddess, with curves that made a man sweat and his palms itch to stroke them.

Her hair was longer too. It was caught in a tail behind her, but there was no taming the brown curls that cascaded down her back. Her heart-shaped face was dominated by smoky gray eyes and full lips that had been painted a pale shade of pink.

His c**k sprang to life, proving once again that the small brain rarely thought things through before it acted. This was the woman who’d broken his heart and left him alone and adrift in the world. He might have loved her once, but now he didn’t know her.

There was also the possibility that she might be involved with the drug dealers using the bar as a base of operations.

He hardened his heart, even as it howled in protest, and ignored his straining d**k. He watched Sara deliver drinks to a nearby table and smile at the patrons before tucking her tray under her arm and heading his way.

It was dark in his corner so she didn’t get a good look at him until she was a couple of feet away. He sat forward, leaning his forearms on the table. She came to a dead stop as though she’d slammed into a solid wall.

It might have been small of him, but he enjoyed her reaction, her shock. Ignoring the churning in his gut, his raging hard-on, and the jagged pain in his heart, he forced himself to speak. “Hello, Sara Leigh.”

* * * * *

Even above the booming jukebox and myriad voices filling the bar, Sara heard him. He was the only one who’d ever called her by both her first and middle name. He was also the boy who’d broken her heart, leaving her behind without a backward glance when he’d shaken the dust of their hometown from his boots and gone off to join the military.

He looked even better than he had back then, and that just wasn’t fair. His face was leaner, harder. But his eyes were still a dark soulful brown that seemed to be able to see right into the depths of her heart. His jaw was hard, his shoulders wide.

Beneath her shirt and bra, her n*****s pebbled. A low throbbing began deep in her core. He might have broken her heart, but her body didn’t care. It seemed to her that she’d always loved him, back as far as she could remember. But he’d taught her that love wasn’t real. Her failed marriage had simply solidified that belief.

And she was standing here like an i***t. That wouldn’t do. She forced herself to move closer. “Mitch. I didn’t know you were back.” Her voice was calm, controlled. She was proud of herself. There was a time she would have turned tail and run, but she hadn’t been that naïve girl in a very long time.

“Just got back.” His voice was deeper than it had been, and it sank into her skin, bringing alive a side of herself she’d thought dead and buried.

She refused to let that happen.

“What can I get you?”

“Coke.”

Now that wasn’t surprising. Mitch’s daddy had wrecked his truck while driving drunk and died two days later in hospital. When other teenage boys had been finding ways to get beer or moonshine, Mitch had never bothered.

“Be right back.” Pleased she was able to make an intelligent response, she turned tail and hurried to the bar. What she really wanted to do was run out the door and keep on going, but that wasn’t an option. She needed this job, at least until she saved up enough money to figure out what she wanted to do with her life.

“Coke,” she told Joe behind the bar. He raised a questioning eyebrow but started to fill the order.

“Who’s the hot guy in the corner?” Judith, another waitress, sidled up alongside her, her gaze on Mitch.

Sara ignored the flash of jealousy and sternly reminded herself that Mitch no longer belonged to her. She wondered if he ever really had. “Just a guy who used to live here.” Not wanting to talk about him, she grabbed the glass Joe had placed on the bar and made her way back to Mitch.

He was still there, wasn’t a figment of her overactive imagination. Only she knew it was his face she saw when she wove s****l fantasies alone in her bed late at night. But this was no dream. He was all too real, a flesh and blood man who made her body pulse with need.

“Here you go.” She placed the drink before him, eager to be gone. She wasn’t ready to face the past. Not here and not now. She needed to focus on work.

But he grabbed her hand before she could leave. His fingers were rough, his skin hot. He rubbed his thumb over her wrist, just along her thundering pulse. That small touch was enough to make her forget all the reasons she should walk away.

Nothing mattered. Not her broken heart. Not all the tears she cried or the pain she’d endured. Mitch was here and he was holding her hand.

And how pathetic was that?

She snatched her hand away as anger bubbled up from somewhere deep inside. “Don’t touch me. You left. Don’t think you can pick up where we left off just because you’re back.”

Oh God. Why had she said that? It was stupid to make a big deal out of their shared past. Better she’d flirted and laughed instead of showing him she was still hurt by his leaving. “I gotta go.” She hurried away, not turning when he called her name.

* * * * *

Mitch watched the crowd swallow Sara up. What the hell had just happened? He wanted to follow her, drag her into his arms, and demand to know why the hell she was angry with him. She was the one who hadn’t returned his letters.

Back in those days, her folks had been too poor to afford cell phones and had still used a landline. He’d tried emailing her through the computer at school, only to have them bounce back. He’d even called her house, but her daddy had told him she wasn’t home. After about the two dozenth time, her daddy had informed him Sara didn’t want to talk with him, had moved on.

He’d let it go and nursed his wounded heart, throwing himself into his training and into the arms of any woman who’d have him. He wasn’t proud of those days.

Now he was left wondering what had really happened. They’d been so close for too many years for him not to recognize that her anger and hurt were very real. He picked up his glass and had a sip, contemplating the past even as he scanned the room. There was no way to alter what had happened, and he had a job to do. Still, his thoughts wandered down memory lane.

Now that he was older and teenage pride was no longer his driving motivation, he was forced to admit he was just as much to blame for their relationship ending as she was. She might not have written him, but he’d allowed her daddy to put him off. And he should have known better. Her daddy had never liked him, had always wanted better for her than the kid of the town drunk.

Fuck. He downed his coke and slammed the glass back on the table. Had he really been that much of an i***t?

He rubbed his face and brought his wayward emotions under control.

“You want another?”

A waitress stood beside his table, a smile on her face. She wasn’t Sara. “Yeah. A coke.” He handed her a ten-dollar bill. “I didn’t pay for the first one,” he told her.

“No problem,” she told him. “I’ll be right back.” With a wink, she walked away, hips swaying.

He had to act normal if he was going to dig into the goings on here. And the best way to do that was to be friendly with the staff. Problem was, the only waitress he wanted to be friendly with was Sara.

Forcing himself to stillness, when all he wanted to do was fidget, he waited until the new waitress brought back his drink. Her hair was cherry red and her lipstick matched. She set a glass of coke and a beer on the table. When he gave her a questioning look, she shrugged. “Thought you might like something a little stronger. I’m Judith Meyers.” She leaned down and he was treated to an up close view of her cleavage.

“Mitch McCoy,” he tried to smile but it wasn’t happening. “What happened to Sara?” Best not to pull any punches.

She frowned, looking more than a little disgruntled. “On her break.”

Which meant she was probably alone. “Where?” When she hesitated, he gave her his best smile. “We used to be friends a long time ago. I just got out of the military and wanted to see her.” He’d found that most folks were more than happy to help out a veteran.

Judith sighed and pointed toward a short hallway. “Just beyond the bathrooms is the break room. Don’t make me regret this,” she warned.

“I won’t.” He hoped that was the truth, but there was no telling how Sara would react to him cornering her alone.

He shoved up from the table, gave her a nod of thanks, and made his way toward the corridor. It seemed a long way away. People milled everywhere. It made the back of his neck itch. He looked around but couldn’t tell who was watching him. Probably a lot of folks were. Everyone would be wondering who he was. That was the way in small towns. It was only a matter of time until someone recognized him.

He resisted the urge to shove everyone aside and race for the cover of the corridor. While he didn’t have full-blown PTSD, he did have the occasional nightmare and problems in normal social situations, especially when it involved crowds.

Not surprising since he’d been injured when a car bomb had exploded on a dusty street halfway around the world. But he’d survived where others hadn’t. His leg might not be what it was, but he still had it. He had no complaints.

He went past the bathrooms and paused outside the door that had “Staff” written on it. He pushed it open and stepped inside.

* * * * *

Sara had taken her break early, much to the annoyance of her boss. Johnny Ellis had been reluctant to hire her but had finally relented when it became obvious she wasn’t going to stop asking. There weren’t many places in a small town to get a job, especially not one that paid decently. And while the job only netted her minimum wage, on busy nights she could more than double that in tips. But she’d needed a few minutes to pull herself back together.

Mitch McCoy was home.

She sat on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and rested her face in her hands. Why now? Just when she was finally free of the past and starting to make her way forward. It wasn’t fair. She gave a bitter laugh. Nothing about life had been fair for a very long time, if ever.

The door pushed open, but she didn’t look up, not wanting to talk to anyone. The door closed, but there was nothing but silence. No one spoke, no one moved around the room.

A shiver ran down her spine and she knew without a shadow of a doubt who was standing there. She slowly raised her head. Sure enough, he was just inside the room, legs spread, hands down by his sides.

The dimness of the bar had softened him slightly, but the stark lighting in the break room hid nothing. Mitch seemed an inch or two taller than when he’d left. His shoulders were broader, stretching the seams of his T-shirt, his biceps were huge. The soft material clung to his chest like a second skin. There was a scruff on his chin, as though he hadn’t shaved in a day. His hair was short, but still longer than military regulation. It was as black as night and thicker than ever.

He’d left her a boy but come back a man. Clichéd, sure, but no less true.

She jumped to her feet. “What are you doing here?” She needed space, some time to pull herself together before she faced him again.

He took several steps forward, and she noticed he was favoring his left leg. Had he been injured? She hadn’t heard and there’d been no one to ask. She’d tried to speak with his uncle after Mitch had left, but he’d run her off the property at gunpoint. She’d never gone back.

When he kept coming toward her, she wanted to back away, but held her ground.

“Sara Leigh.” He said her name. Just that, but it sounded so intimate. She closed her eyes against him, but it didn’t help. She was very aware of his presence. She caught the slightest whiff of soap, felt a breath on her face, and then his lips touched hers.

The bar, the past, everything disappeared. There was only Mitch and her. Only he’d had the ability to make her feel special, as though she could conquer the world, as if she was worth loving.

She yanked her head away. He’d taken that from her, forcing her to learn to stand on her own two feet, to find her self-worth by herself. She should probably thank him for that. Maybe in another decade or so, she’d be able too. Right now, all she wanted to do was gather the tattered remnants of her pride around her and survive this night.

“Why did you do that?” she demanded. “You have no right.”

He ran his fingertips down the curve of her jaw. “I did it because I had to.” He leaned closer until their noses were almost touching. “And sweet Sara, I have every right.”