Rescue Me: A Bad Boy Military Romance Read Online Free Page A
Author: Vesper Vaughn
I'd straightened out of my auburn locks sometime this morning, two time zones away, have returned with a vengeance. My foundation is running off my face as well.
Looks like I’ll be back to the curly, freckle-faced redhead I grew up being in a matter of moments. Texas doesn't care about transformations. It just wants you how it wants you.
The taxi finally reaches Buxwell, and my breath is ripped out of my chest by the familiarity. There's the diner where I kissed Johnny Marshall in the eighth grade. There’s the stone-clad library with towering cottonwood trees surrounding it. There's a cadre of red tricycles outside of the library and I realize it must be afternoon story time.
Nostalgia is rocking my body with waves that are more like tsunamis. I dig my nails back into the armrest like I'm trying to hold onto the person I’ve made myself into outside the confines of this tiny, tiny town. "Where to, again?" the driver asks.
I pull the crumpled letter out of my pocket and squint at the address like I haven’t had it burned into my memory. I grew up going to this clinic. I say the address out loud and close my eyes, wishing I could pretend I was somewhere else. But the taxi edges out of the falling-down, decrepit downtown and a funny feeling comes over me like someone just walked over my own grave. I open my eyes to see a glimpse of a tanned, muscular guy lifting lumber out of the back of his truck. I do a double take and nearly get whiplash turning to look.
It can't be him, though.
It can't be.
"Everything alright back there? We didn't pass it, did we?" asks the driver. I think about how far he has to drive to get back to Dallas after this.
"No, you didn't pass it. You've got quite a drive back to Dallas, don't you?" I ask him to change the subject.
He shrugs. "It's just time and tires, darlin'. Don't you worry about it."
I lean back, my heart still pounding at seeing his ghost in my wake. Or what I thought was his ghost. He wouldn't have come back here. Would he? "Make a right here," I say automatically as we drive by a dirt road.
The driver glances back at me. I'm nearly blinded by the blank compact disc hanging from his rearview mirror. "I thought you said you'd never been here before?"
I sigh. "Just drive. It's only a few more yards."
The tires kick up clouds of dirt and the rumble of the tires over the mixture of dirt and gravel sends a shock of nostalgia through me unlike any I've experienced so far today. I glance out the passenger side window and I see the wood clapboard house. It looks like it's about to fall over, but there's a charm about it that tickles me. I see the tiny cottage in the backyard and realize with a small twinge of guilt that my mother always talked about living in a cute house like that. I shake it out of my memory. "Out front here is fine," I say.
"You sure, darlin'? Don't look like nobody's been here in a week's time," the driver says with fatherly concern.
I snap open my knock-off Louis Vuitton purse that Sam and I bought when we'd gone up to San Francisco a few months ago and pull out a hundred-dollar bill. "Keep the change," I say.
I step out of the taxi into what I hope is mud and not manure. It squelches around my high heels. "Welcome home," I say to no one.
I'm so windblown by the events of the last few days I barely know where I am, what day it is, or what time zone I'm in. The taxi driver rolls down his window.
"You want some help takin' this stuff inside?" he asks.
I shake my head. "I've got it, thank you," I say. I hear the smallest twang of accent come back in my 'thank you' and I cringe. He pops the trunk and I pull out four rolling suitcases: my entire life fits in these bags. I can’t believe that it does all fit, but I guess that's what four years of med school followed by residency gets a person. It's not like I've had a lot of time to shop or collect much of anything other than the dark circles underneath my eyes.
I stumble over to the toppled old ranch
Looks like I’ll be back to the curly, freckle-faced redhead I grew up being in a matter of moments. Texas doesn't care about transformations. It just wants you how it wants you.
The taxi finally reaches Buxwell, and my breath is ripped out of my chest by the familiarity. There's the diner where I kissed Johnny Marshall in the eighth grade. There’s the stone-clad library with towering cottonwood trees surrounding it. There's a cadre of red tricycles outside of the library and I realize it must be afternoon story time.
Nostalgia is rocking my body with waves that are more like tsunamis. I dig my nails back into the armrest like I'm trying to hold onto the person I’ve made myself into outside the confines of this tiny, tiny town. "Where to, again?" the driver asks.
I pull the crumpled letter out of my pocket and squint at the address like I haven’t had it burned into my memory. I grew up going to this clinic. I say the address out loud and close my eyes, wishing I could pretend I was somewhere else. But the taxi edges out of the falling-down, decrepit downtown and a funny feeling comes over me like someone just walked over my own grave. I open my eyes to see a glimpse of a tanned, muscular guy lifting lumber out of the back of his truck. I do a double take and nearly get whiplash turning to look.
It can't be him, though.
It can't be.
"Everything alright back there? We didn't pass it, did we?" asks the driver. I think about how far he has to drive to get back to Dallas after this.
"No, you didn't pass it. You've got quite a drive back to Dallas, don't you?" I ask him to change the subject.
He shrugs. "It's just time and tires, darlin'. Don't you worry about it."
I lean back, my heart still pounding at seeing his ghost in my wake. Or what I thought was his ghost. He wouldn't have come back here. Would he? "Make a right here," I say automatically as we drive by a dirt road.
The driver glances back at me. I'm nearly blinded by the blank compact disc hanging from his rearview mirror. "I thought you said you'd never been here before?"
I sigh. "Just drive. It's only a few more yards."
The tires kick up clouds of dirt and the rumble of the tires over the mixture of dirt and gravel sends a shock of nostalgia through me unlike any I've experienced so far today. I glance out the passenger side window and I see the wood clapboard house. It looks like it's about to fall over, but there's a charm about it that tickles me. I see the tiny cottage in the backyard and realize with a small twinge of guilt that my mother always talked about living in a cute house like that. I shake it out of my memory. "Out front here is fine," I say.
"You sure, darlin'? Don't look like nobody's been here in a week's time," the driver says with fatherly concern.
I snap open my knock-off Louis Vuitton purse that Sam and I bought when we'd gone up to San Francisco a few months ago and pull out a hundred-dollar bill. "Keep the change," I say.
I step out of the taxi into what I hope is mud and not manure. It squelches around my high heels. "Welcome home," I say to no one.
I'm so windblown by the events of the last few days I barely know where I am, what day it is, or what time zone I'm in. The taxi driver rolls down his window.
"You want some help takin' this stuff inside?" he asks.
I shake my head. "I've got it, thank you," I say. I hear the smallest twang of accent come back in my 'thank you' and I cringe. He pops the trunk and I pull out four rolling suitcases: my entire life fits in these bags. I can’t believe that it does all fit, but I guess that's what four years of med school followed by residency gets a person. It's not like I've had a lot of time to shop or collect much of anything other than the dark circles underneath my eyes.
I stumble over to the toppled old ranch
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