Stop The Wedding!: Night Driving / Smooth Sailing / Crash Landing

A few miles later, they drove past a mile marker that said Nashville 33 Miles and a billboard advertising the Civil War reenactment of the Battle of Shiloh for the upcoming Fourth of July weekend caught her eye.

“Ah, man,” she muttered under her breath.

“What is it?” Boone asked.

“I can’t believe that tomorrow is the first day of the Shiloh battlefield reenactment.” She waved a hand at the billboard. “We’ll be so near and I can’t go.”

“You’re interested in battlefield reenactments?”

“My maternal great-great-great-grandfather was killed at Shiloh and I’ve always wanted to visit.”

“It’s a shame you can’t go.”

“So close and yet so far,” she said glibly, trying to keep the wistfulness from her voice. Seeing the reenactment of the battle her ancestor had died in was on her own personal bucket list. She’d heard stories about the bravery of great-great-great-grandfather Sykes for years. His sacrifice stirred patriotism inside her. His blood traveled in hers and it made her feel connected to history in a way nothing else did.

“You really want to see the reenactment.” Boone put it as a statement, not a question.

“How do you know?”

“When you want something badly, you act like you don’t care.”

She turned her head sharply, surprised that he’d nailed that about her.

“I’ve been watching you for several weeks.”

“Oh, you have?” she said lightly, trying to ignore the thrill that shot through her at his admission and it was only then that she fully acknowledged how much she wanted his attention. When had this started?

“You’re not fooling me one bit.”

“No?”

“You act like you don’t care so that if what you want doesn’t happen you’re not disappointed. Must come from growing up in a big family.”

“You’re right,” she admitted. “When I was growing up, if I acted like I really wanted something, one of my older siblings would invariably get to it before I did.”

“You’re pretty easy to read, Duvall.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not a bad thing.” Boone paused. “Fact is, I wish I could be as open as you. It would make life easier.”

“I think you’re pretty darn terrific just the way you are,” she said.

“Ditto,” he said, his voice oddly husky.

Melancholy settled over her, but she batted it away. For one thing, she didn’t know why she was feeling it. For another, she wasn’t one to feel sorry for herself. “I really would like to see the battlefield someday.”

“A guy has to be on the ball around you,” he murmured.

“Oh?” She sneaked a glance over at him. His eyebrows were drawn up in a pensive expression. “What?”

“For all your openness, you’re much more complex than you appear on the surface.”

“Why, Boone Toliver, is that a compliment?” she teased.

“You’re surprising and fun and…well…I was putting you in the same category as my mother and you don’t belong there.”

“No kidding,” she said fiercely. “I would never ever abandon my kid. No matter what.” It twisted her up inside to think of Boone as a little boy, left without a mom. It had affected him deeply, even if he didn’t want to admit it. It had to have. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for him, growing up knowing that your own mother didn’t want you.

“You’ll make a good mother someday. You’ll be the cool mom and all the kids in the neighborhood will want to hang out at your house.”

That pleased her. “Hey, I’m not a pushover.”

“I know that. You’re something else, Tara Duvall.”

If, three days ago, someone had told her that she’d be in a car on her way to Miami with her grouchy neighbor and he would be saying such nice things about her, she would have laughed until her sides ached. But now? It was alarming how easily she’d grown accustomed to having him around.

Then she realized something extraordinary. She would never be the same after this road trip. Getting to know Boone on a personal level made her realize there were certain qualities she wanted in a man. Qualities she’d never searched for—or found, for that matter—before now. Boone epitomized everything she’d never known she’d wanted in a mate.

Heck, she’d never even known she was ready to start thinking about a mate until this trip.

He had his rough edges, no doubt about it, but didn’t everyone? Those sharp edges and prickly patches were part and parcel of who he was. He was gruff, yes, but it was just a camouflage to hide his vulnerability, and he could admit when he was wrong. Eventually. Not easy for a strong man who was used to being in charge.

The main thing troubling him was that he hadn’t found his place in the world now that he was no longer a soldier. She hoped that she was helping him with that. He seemed pretty directionless since his last knee surgery.

“So,” she said. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do when your knee heals?”

“If it heals.”

“It’ll heal. Third times a charm.”

“You oughta find a way to bottle it.”

“What?”

“That optimism of yours.”

“Would you buy some if I could?”

“Maybe.”

She laughed.

He scowled. “What’s so funny?”

“The fact that if you could buy optimism in a bottle you’re still hesitant to commit to it.”

“I read a study that said pessimists have a firmer grip on reality.”