Spun Out Page 7

  Canteen—or a water bottle with a carabiner

  A long-sleeved jacket with a hood

  In addition, the recruit must wear the SRBC12 uniform, which consists of ONE of each of the following items:

  Khaki or camo shorts OR khaki or camo pants

  A PLAIN short-sleeved army green or tan T-shirt

  Hiking boots or shoes suited for outdoor athletics

  A ball cap, preferably tan

  The recruits will each be assigned a locker on their first day. They may choose to leave the required items in their lockers at the end of the training day. Items that are NOT on this list are NOT allowed at any time. Specifically candy, gum, cell phones, handheld video games, earbuds, fidget spinners. NO EXCEPTIONS. Infractions could result in expulsion from the program.

  Thank you in advance for your cooperation. Please bring the signed registration form, medical form, and liability waiver. See you Friday at 0700 at WWC.

  Streeter couldn’t help but groan. He wasn’t sure if this boot camp would be good for Olivia or an absolute disaster.

  One thing was for certain, Sergeant Bailey Masterson took her job very seriously.

  Sounds like you.

  Well, they’d get along great, then.

  He printed the forms and started filling them out. On the last section of the medical form, in the subsection marked ADDITIONAL COMMENTS, he read the last two questions twice.

  Has your child ever been diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD)?

  Does your child have any emotional triggers that result in abnormal behavior? If yes, please list cause and effect.

  Streeter scrubbed his hands over his face. How was he supposed to answer without writing a damn book about Olivia’s short history that’d have Bailey gawking at his daughter—and him—differently? Before camp even started?

  Not happening.

  The ASD question . . . he wrote NO.

  Olivia was a high-functioning child. She’d passed, for lack of a better term, the precursor checklist for an autism diagnosis, but she hadn’t gotten off scot-free. She’d been diagnosed with a dissociative disorder, which still required weekly appointments with a child psychologist. Olivia had made progress, and he held on to hope that would continue.

  In the meantime, he enrolled her at a private academic institute that kept her mind stimulated—at least three hours a day, once a week. And the report from the babysitter on rotation this week had been short of glowing. One benefit of Olivia’s detachment? She hadn’t asked why pink-haired Meghan hadn’t been around.

  He stacked the papers on the counter.

  Lights off, door locked, kiddo checked on, he crawled into bed and waited for the sweet oblivion of sleep.

  * * *

  Friday morning, the first day of boot camp didn’t start out great.

  Olivia was used to choosing her own clothing—in some shade of purple or pink—and balked at wearing a tan T-shirt and “boy” pants.

  He compromised, allowing her to pack her pink raincoat, because the required color for that hadn’t been spelled out. He also used pink hair ties because she only owned ones in a pastel shade.

  With Olivia’s backpack loaded and her new hiking boots on, Streeter walked his daughter up to the Split Rock Lodge. He could’ve spent the time going over the camp rules one more time, but the morning was pretty—sunshine, bright blue skies, a slight chill in the air—and he opted to enjoy their rare quiet time.

  Olivia hadn’t asked a million questions. She hadn’t let him carry her backpack either. As they approached the side door, she said, “Daddy?”

  “What’s up, buttercup?”

  She didn’t crack a smile. “If I hate this camp, can I quit?”

  “You won’t hate it. Your friends are here. It’s only one day a week. And it’ll help you learn to listen and follow the rules since you start school at the end of the summer.”

  “I already know how to follow the rules. I just don’t like ’em.”

  Hard not to laugh at that.

  She kicked at a dandelion.

  “Something else on your mind?”

  “I don’t think she likes me.”

  “Who?”

  “Sergeant B.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “She hasn’t given me back my drums.”

  He fought a smile. It wasn’t for lack of trying. Every morning Olivia marched up to Bailey’s door and politely asked for the return of her drum set. Every morning, as he waited at the end of the walkway, Bailey said no. “I’m thinkin’ if you prove to her that you can listen and follow the camp rules, she’ll see you’re ready to be responsible with your drums again.”

  Her wrinkled nose indicated her skepticism.

  He bent down and kissed it. “The day will fly by. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  In the back room of Wild West Clothiers he helped Olivia put her things in her “locker”—a milk crate with her name on it.

  “If you’ll stand in front of your lockers,” Sergeant B said, “I’ll take roll call.”

  Streeter joined the other parents, all women—not a surprise, he was used to being the lone male at many parental functions—who were clustered along the back wall.

  Only one locker hadn’t been claimed.

  He watched Bailey’s face when Penelope sailed in, dragging her daughter behind her.

  Great. Last year when Penelope discovered he was a single parent, she’d insisted on setting up a playdate between Olivia and her daughter Jessamyn. Only, it’d felt too much like a date date between them. Then Jessamyn turned out to be bratty—Olivia’s words—and she’d informed him she’d never play with Jessamyn again.

  Sergeant B marched over to the parental group. Her military bearing, her army fatigues, her stance broadcasted woman in charge and damn if he didn’t have the urge to stand up straighter.

  “With all of you working at the Split Rock in some capacity, I’m asking that you please respect what I’m trying to accomplish and don’t ‘drop by’ to see how your child is faring. If there’s an issue, you will get a full report at the end of the day. See you at seventeen hundred.”

  Talk about a dismissal. No one argued with her or asked for additional information. And none of the kids raced over for last good-byes either.

  He walked back to the employees’ compound, climbed in his truck and drove over to Tobin’s place. This back-and-forth stuff was getting old. Maybe it was time to break ground on their house. A house with a yard. A house away from strangers. A house where he wouldn’t freak out if Olivia went outside unsupervised.

  Who the hell was he kidding? He’d never let her out of his sight on the ranch either.

  Streeter spent the morning checking cattle and dealing with ranch business before he returned to the Split Rock. He and Ted scoured the backwater sections of the ranch searching for a couple of heifers and their calves that’d disappeared. The terrain required horses instead of four-wheelers, so by the time he’d dealt with brushing down his horse and putting away his tack, he was ten minutes late to pick up Olivia.

  All the other kids were already gone.

  He’d been racked in the family jewels enough times that he automatically turned his hips when she ran at him. “Hey, girlie.” He bent to kiss the top of her head and it crunched beneath his lips. “What’s in your hair?”

  “I hafta tell you something but you can’t get mad ’cause I already got demerits from Sergeant B” came out in a rush.

  “Demerits for what?”

  “Usin’ the glue without permission.”

  “You put glue in your hair?” Christ. She was five. She knew better than that.

  “No, Daddy, we were makin’ masks and the glue kinda got everywhere.”

  His gaze caught Sergeant B’s. “Where were you?”

 
“A very brief bathroom break.”

  Before he could ask how many times the kids had been left alone, Olivia piped in with, “And Sergeant B got a demerit for leaving her post!”

  “Who gave Sergeant B a demerit?”

  “She gave it to herself! And when we had to do push-ups as our DA, she did them too. Twice as many as we did.”

  Olivia looked positively gleeful. After getting in trouble?

  Streeter glanced over at the drill sergeant. “What’s a DA?”

  “Disciplinary action. It teaches consequences for breaking a rule.” She shrugged. “I learned the hard way not to leave them unattended for even five minutes. It showed them no one is above the rules. Not even me.”

  He was about to give her props . . . when he noticed archery equipment propped in the corner. Not plastic bows, but real carbon-fiber bows. And the arrows weren’t a kid’s suction-cup type, but actual arrows with metal tips. “I hope you’re not turnin’ the recruits loose with those,” he said half-jokingly.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. They were fully supervised. I only set up two targets during archery skills. I oversaw every shot from every kid.”

  In three strides, Streeter loomed over her. “You let these kids shoot real arrows today?”

  “Those arrows have practice tips. Which are used for archery practice. It’s not like I loaded them with broadhead tips.”

  “You are missin’ the point, Sergeant,” he half growled. “I didn’t sign my kid up for some dangerous—”

  “Yes, you did. Would you like to see the release form that you signed, Mr. Hale?” she said sweetly.

  Dammit. “What are your qualifications?”

  “Maybe you should’ve asked that before you signed her up.”

  “None of the other parents have an issue with you teachin’ military-level archery on the first day of camp?”

  “You could’ve asked them that yourself, had you been on time to pick Olivia up today.”

  His cheeks heated.

  She smiled at his discomfort. “And it’s not military level. The bows and arrows belong to Brianna Lawson and Isabelle Jackson. Both girls are currently part of an archery club, and their parents agreed to let them be team leaders on that skill.”

  Son of a bitch. “Why didn’t you tell us—”

  “Daddy? What’s wrong?”

  Everything. Streeter forced himself to step back. “Nothin’.”

  “Did Sergeant B tell you how good I did at archery today?”

  Smarmy Sergeant B lifted a brow.

  “Uh, we—”

  “Hadn’t gotten to that part yet,” the sergeant finished. “Why don’t you tell him the exciting news yourself, recruit?”

  Olivia did a little bounce. “I got a merit for bein’ the best archer in my group!”

  “That’s great, sweetheart.”

  “You don’t sound very excited,” she complained.

  The sergeant’s comments rankled. Why was he the bad guy for worrying about his daughter’s safety?

  Let it go. She had fun. Earning a merit and a demerit officially makes this day a wash.

  He set his hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “Time to go.” He got them out of there before he said something he’d regret.

  Halfway down the hill, Streeter realized that was the third time he’d skipped saying good-bye to her.

  Once they cleared the privacy fence separating the employees’ quarters from the lodge grounds, Olivia said, “Gramma?”

  “There’s my little princess.”

  This was the perfect capper to his day—dealing with his former mother-in-law an hour early.

  Streeter looked at his watch. “You weren’t supposed to be here until six, Deenie.”

  “I couldn’t wait to see my girl.” She frowned at Olivia’s outfit and gingerly touched her head. “What’s this?”

  “Glue.”

  “Glue? How on earth did that happen?”

  “A craft accident at her day camp. I figured she’d have time to shower before you showed up.”

  Deenie sent him a tight smile. “It’s not like I haven’t bathed her before.” She winked at Olivia. “Guess this means you’ll have a bubble bath in Gramma’s big garden tub first thing.”

  “Yay!”

  “She’s not packed either,” he pointed out.

  She sighed. “Honestly, Streeter, you know she has her own bedroom and her own clothes at my house.”

  “I’m well aware of that. You feedin’ her supper too?”

  “Of course.”

  “I already know what I want, Gramma. Macaroni and hot dogs and cupcakes with pink frosting and gummy worms on top!”

  “I’ve already got it all laid out.”

  Guess he’d be dining alone on the macaroni and hot dog supper he’d planned for him and Olivia. He started toward the parking lot. “I’ll grab her car seat.”

  “Is that really necessary? I mean . . . she is five.”

  He whirled around. “The car seat goes or she stays. Your choice.”

  “Fine. I just think you’re being a little overprotective.”

  Maybe if you’d been a little more overprotective with your own daughter, she wouldn’t be dead.

  Sometimes he couldn’t keep from playing the blame game. He immediately felt guilty for it, especially since he knew Deenie’s thoughts had traveled that same path about him.

  He sucked it up and said nothing. He transferred the car seat from his SUV to hers. Then he crouched down and took Olivia’s hands. “I love you, girlie.”

  “I love you too, Daddy.”

  “Be good for Gramma. And remember our house rules apply at her house too.” Then he buckled her in and shut the door.

  Across the car roof he caught Deenie’s eye. “Grandpa Steve is takin’ her for a little while tomorrow?”

  “So he says.”

  “I’d better hear from both of you as soon as you figure it out, Deenie. Your problem with him and vice versa ain’t my problem or Olivia’s. The moment it becomes a problem . . . these weekend visitations end. Understand?”

  She sniffed. “Yes, Streeter, you’ve made that abundantly clear.”

  “Good. Call me if you need anything.”

  He watched his heart drive away until she turned the corner and he couldn’t see her waving anymore.

  For most people weekends flew by. For him, they never seemed to end.

  Chapter Seven

  Stay at this end of the pool, Gage. I mean it. If I see you inch even your baby toe past the elephant slide, we’re packing up.”

  “But there’s nobody here to play with,” he complained.

  “You’ve got me.” Bailey whipped off her bathing suit cover-up and tossed it on a lounge chair. “C’mere and get your sunscreen on.”

  After thoroughly coating his skin—including the tips of his ears—she grabbed the plastic ball and the doughnut-shaped floaty. “You’re up first, sport. Try to get the ball in the hole before the jets come on.”

  It was fun having the Split Rock pool to themselves. They made up crazy games, went down the slide backward. She even let him hang like a monkey on the end of the diving board as she swam around him pretending to be a shark.

  After an hour she forced him to take a break from the sun and they lounged under a big beach umbrella.

  She’d known their private pool time wouldn’t last, but she was surprised to see Streeter and Olivia Hale passing through the gate.

  She didn’t think green-eyed Daddio could swim with that stick up his ass.

  Not nice, Sergeant.

  But true, nonetheless.

  Things were still tense between them. The first day at camp had gone well for her . . . until the last hour. In the five minutes Bailey had taken to use the bathroom, she’d come back to see that Olivia had upended a
gallon-sized bottle of glue for the mask-making craft, showing Rhett, Gage and Cody how to make molds—by slapping glue-soaked strips of newspaper on their faces and heads. Although it’d been hard enough to scrub off, it could’ve been worse.

  Streeter hadn’t gotten upset about that. He’d blown a gasket when he’d seen the kids’ archery supplies. Immediately demanding answers about her teaching qualifications, safety measures, safety precautions, until she’d suggested he discuss it with Renner and Janie since it’d been their idea.

  And she hadn’t seen him since.

  Bailey assumed they’d been out of town, because Olivia hadn’t knocked on her door all weekend, asking whether she could have her drums back, a habit she’d gotten into every morning.

  Gage started bouncing on the lounger as soon as he noticed Olivia. “Can I play with her? Please?”

  “Finish your snack.”

  “But . . .”

  Bailey leaned in. “Gage, honey, let Olivia have time with her dad first. If we’re still here after that then you can ask if she wants to play.”

  “But she’s waving at me!”

  “Not the same thing as waving you over to her, bud. So wave back.”

  He grumbled and slurped his juice box really loud.

  Bailey adjusted her lounge chair and tilted the umbrella to put them completely in the shade. Too much sun caused her extra problems. She glanced up in time to see Streeter taking off his T-shirt. When he faced her, lucky thing she wore sunglasses because her eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

  Green-eyed Daddio was supposed to have a “dad” body—slumped posture, flabby arms, a soft middle, hairy in all the wrong places, pasty white skin and sporting ugly Bermuda shorts—not broad shoulders, a firm chest, muscled biceps, a flat abdomen and the perfect amount of dark hair arrowing down his torso and disappearing into sexy board shorts.

  Holy shit.

  She groaned.

  “What’s wrong, Aunt B?”

  “My throat’s dry. Hand me a juice box, would you?”

  To keep Gage engaged during their pool break, she let him play games on her phone. She turned her head, hoping she looked as if she were napping, when in reality, she couldn’t keep her eyes off Streeter’s banging body.