Forged in Smoke (Red-Hot SEALs #3)(31)

Blowing out a frustrated breath, she headed out the door. The cabin was quiet and cool as she passed through. Apparently Rawls had abandoned his home away from home entirely. But then, the satellite phone was housed in the command center. As far as she knew, none of the individual cabins had access to a line outside the compound. Although she suspected Wolf had a second phone in his cabin. It made sense that the person in charge of the camp would have access to a private mode of communication with his superiors.

If Rawls had gone after the sat phone as he’d claimed, he was probably still at the command center. There went her plans for getting an early start on dinner. Faith hesitated before changing directions and heading for her cabin instead of the main lodge. She had plenty of time to get the roast in the oven—might as well give him time to clear out.

Forty-five minutes later she left her cabin and approached the main lodge from an angle. Peering through the windows, she scanned the room for Rawls. While she wanted to get a start on dinner, she didn’t relish the thought of tiptoeing around residual tension.

Her spying served her well. Not only was Rawls in the lodge, so was Kait. The two were wrapped in each other’s arms, pressed so close their blond heads blended together.

An uncomfortable burning seared her chest. A sensation she’d never experienced, yet immediately recognized at a visceral level. Jealousy—which was insane. She had no claim on the man. He could hug anyone he pleased. Besides, Kait was committed to Cosky, which meant the hug was likely platonic rather than romantic.

Some of the acid bile climbing her throat settled. She eased back from the window. It would be just too humiliating to be caught peering inside the lodge like some seedy Peeping Tom. As she backed away from the glass, the couple inside broke apart and commenced chatting.

Once clear of the window, she tiptoed around to the back of the lodge. The thought of returning to her cabin and waiting for Kait and Rawls to vacate the command center—and more importantly, the kitchen—didn’t sit well. The silence and boredom would give her way too much time to overthink. During moments of stress she had a habit of blowing gopher hills into mountain peaks. But taking a walk would leave her with just as much free time, which presented the same opportunity to overcomplicate things. What she really needed was that kitchen, and the soothing effects of cooking.

By the time she’d infused some steel into her spine and girded herself to march around the corner and take command of the kitchen, Kait and Rawls were leaving the lodge.

Perfect.

Faith waited until they’d disappeared into their respective cabins before emerging from her hiding place. As she’d expected, her haven stood empty. Relaxing, she got down to the business of seasoning the fifteen-pound pork roast taking up half the shelf in the industrial-sized refrigerator. It would take somewhere around six hours to cook, which would put dinner at six p.m. Mackenzie and his crew, plus Amy and her boys, should be back by then. She’d make the dough for the biscuits as soon as the roast was in the oven, but wait to bake them until the meat was out and cooling. It wouldn’t hurt to combine the applesauce, brown sugar, vinegar, and cloves for the basting either. Plenty of time to take care of that after the biscuits were made.

She’d preheated the oven to 350, peeled and sliced several cloves of garlic, and cut slots in the roast to insert the garlic, when the door to the lodge opened. Faith froze with her back to the intruder. There were four possibilities as to the identity of the interloper—Beth, Kait, Wolf’s watch dog, or Rawls. Her money was on Rawls, and sure enough, when she turned around, that’s exactly who was eyeing her warily from across the kitchen counter.

“Hey,” he said, after a noticeable hesitation, discomfort and caution darkening his blue eyes.

“I just started dinner,” she blurted the information out—only to silently cringe—as though he couldn’t see that fact for himself.

This current of unease was exactly what she’d wanted to avoid. With a deep internal sigh, she stiffened her shoulders. Things couldn’t get much more strained between them, might as well clear the air and bring the invisible pink elephant into the open.

“Look. It’s obvious I’m attracted to you and you’re attracted to me. That’s plain human nature, and nothing we need to tiptoe around.” Look at her, being all grown up and mature about the situation when six days earlier she’d refused to allow him near her wounds for fear he’d realize how attractive she found him. “What happened in your bedroom was perfectly natural and nothing to get all bothered about.” She floundered, feeling like she’d lost her point somewhere. “Just because we feel the attraction doesn’t mean we have to act on it.” She stumbled into silence, all platituded out.

His eyes lost focus and his head started to turn.

Faith glanced in the direction he was turning, but didn’t see or hear anything. “What’s wrong?”

He froze and jerked back to face her, a mask sweeping over his face.

“Nothin’.” He hesitated and then his face softened. “Look, this has nothin’ to do with you. The timin’ sucks, you know? I mean to start somethin’ up . . .”

His voice suddenly picked up speed and strength like he was trying to talk over the radio, even though the room was silent. She could tell the moment he realized what he was doing, and forced his volume back down.

“Things are kinda . . .” He frowned, and looked down. “I’m not in a place . . .” With a slow shake of his head, he ran a tense hand through his blond hair, leaving it rumpled and sexy. “Yeah, the timin’ just sucks.”