Callie was drained. She was used to working herself into the ground so she could sleep, but this time exhaustion didn’t even cover it. All day, her mind had been tossing around a barrage of thoughts and emotions, and she still wasn’t anywhere close to figuring a single thing out. One minute, logic reigned, and the next, her desire for another go-round with Grady, coupled with the comfort of familiarity, and of course, curiosity, took over. Her emotions had her seeking as much overtime as she could get. While she’d been denied yet another extra shift at Desert Manor, she’d managed to gain an extra shift at the police department this week. At home, she tried to keep busy with chores and errands, anything to reduce the amount of time she spent thinking of Grady in her bed. Guilt. Desire. Both emotions warred constantly.

She even tried to limit the amount of time she was at home, especially sleeping. Or trying to. Sleep escaped her lately. The moment she laid her head down on the pillow, all she could think of was Grady lying next to her. Together. She’d tried sleeping on the couch in the living room, but it was just uncomfortable and unsuccessful. Yesterday, unable to bear the look in his eyes, at times understanding and at others accusing, Callie had put David’s photograph in the drawer. It had always held a place of honor on her bedside table, and now what? The next morning, overwhelmed with yet more confusion and not a little sense of additional grief and guilt, she put the photograph back.

She had stared at it a long time, trying to imagine what David would say about what she had done. If she could talk to him right now, would he give her his blessing? Or would he feel the cuckholded husband? She would like to think it was the former, but she’d never know for sure. Besides, a one-night stand did not a relationship make.

She hadn’t seen or heard from Grady for nearly a week. She wanted to be angry about that. No word from him the morning after, no notes, no attempt to reach out. Actually, she felt relieved. That meant she didn’t have to discuss it. Not having to listen to excuses, apologies—from either of them—and most of all, avoiding the temptation to do it again.

Torn. That’s how she felt. She thought she’d never sleep with another man. It was too soon. No one could take David’s place. That was true, but Grady . . . he was someone familiar, someone whose loyalty to her husband matched her own. They had both loved David. She knew that. Grady had been destroyed by David’s death. He’d been haunted by it since the moment he had escorted David’s coffin from the army’s transport plane, waiting patiently and stoically by the flag-draped coffin as it was brought down the ramp at the airport, Callie waiting nearby, blinking back tears and pain . . . 

She would never forget the feeling of emptiness that took her breath away when she got her first glimpse of that casket. Dark oak, shiny, the bright red, white, and blue colors of the flag draped just so, tight and neat. She walked stiffly toward the casket as Grady and the army escorts stood at attention, the airport workers on the tarmac pausing in their duties as they too paid their respects silently, gazes turned politely away from her own, twisted with grief as she placed her hand on the casket, as close as she would ever get to her husband ever again.

She remembered Grady’s comforting grip on her elbow as she rested her forehead against the casket, felt the rough fabric of the flag against it, choking back a sob, refusing to cry in front of so many people. She was a soldier’s wife. She would act like one.

She had held it together until Grady escorted her into the back of a nondescript black SUV behind the hearse. He’d sat beside her, wordless, his strength and support undisputable. Only then, in the privacy of the car, had she broken down, and Grady had wrapped his arms around her and let her sob all over his uniform, clutching desperately at him, wanting to know why . . . why . . . She’d seem him little since then. Until that night.

Since the night they had spent together, her thoughts had been torn between David and Grady. Was David, up there in heaven, angry with her? Or perhaps feeling betrayed, thinking that she had forgotten him and moved on, with his best friend no less? She wished there was some way to convince David in the afterlife that she would never forget him. Never. Neither would Grady. God damn it, she was so confused.

That morning she had gotten up, ready to pull a double at the long-term care center. Tired but relieved that she would be distracted most of the day. She was close to her limit of hours for this pay period at the facility, and they were strict about not allowing any employee to put in too much overtime, concerned about possible mistakes caused by fatigue. She understood the rule but cursed it at the same time. She needed to stay busy, she needed to be exhausted, so by that by the time she got home, it was all she could do to take a quick shower and flop into bed, hoping and praying that sleep would come quickly and not with so many guilt-fueled dreams.

She was halfway through her second shift, just before suppertime. Her feet ached, and she cringed at the twinge in her back from so much bending down, making beds, helping residents to the bathroom or back into bed.

She was taking her residents one at a time to the dining room when Sandy, one of the older nurses on staff, told her that the receptionist had fielded a call for her. Personal calls were not permitted nor condoned unless it was a verifiable emergency. Her cell phone was stored in her locker with her purse. She thanked Sandy and told her as soon as she had a chance, she would go to the receptionist and see who had called.

Grady? He had her phone number. He might have called and left a voicemail, but she’d check with the receptionist first. She doubted that Grady would call. He hadn’t made an attempt all week, but then again . . . her heart skipped a beat with the possibility. Shit. She’d have to quit wavering and make a decision. Would she tell Grady they couldn’t see each other? Would she tell him that he couldn’t watch her house from down the street anymore? Or would she tell him that she would be open to seeing him, to a repeat performance in bed . . . 

“Shame on you,” she muttered. But it was understandable. It came down to two choices: either she wanted to see Grady again in that way or should she cut ties with him entirely before things got any more complicated.

And that was just a problem, wasn’t it? She felt so damn conflicted about all of it. Maybe she didn’t have to make a decision at all. Maybe sleeping together the first time had been a one-time deal. The traditional one-night stand. A mistake. Maybe Grady felt as confused as she did about it. The next time they talked, they should probably discuss it, what it meant, what they wanted it to be . . . and if they wanted to pursue a relationship.

She sighed. Was she ready? Would she ever be?

She wheeled the last resident on her hall to the dining room and then quickly hurried over to the receptionist’s desk. The receptionist was sitting behind her glass window reading a magazine. “Hi, Melissa. I was told I got a call earlier?”

“Hi Callie,” she smiled. “You did. Unfortunately, I’m not sure who it was. All he said was for me to tell you that he was thinking of you.”

Callie frowned. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Melissa shrugged.

“What did his voice sound like?”

“I don’t know, a guy’s voice, kind of deep, calm, but not really deep.”

Well that certainly helped, not. “Thanks, Melissa,” she said, turning away.

She returned to work, wondering. Grady had never reached out to her before, and certainly not at work. Maybe things really were different now. They had slept together. Maybe he wanted to talk to her about “the incident” as much she—even hesitantly—wanted to talk to him about it. Then again, maybe he wanted to tell her that he was sorry, that it never should have happened. She didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t want to hear that it had been a big mistake on his part. That he regretted it. She didn’t exactly feel like it was a mistake, but maybe she should.

She’d call him. After work, when she was home and had some privacy. She still had his phone number in her phone contact list. She still had David’s, too. Sometimes she called his number just to hear his voice on his voicemail recording. “Hey, this is David. You know what to do . . .”

Callie managed to distract herself and stay busy for the rest of her shift, feeling pleasantly exhausted by the time she clocked out at ten o’clock that night. By rote, she left the facility, got in her car, and drove home. Halfway there, she glanced into the rearview mirror. A car followed maybe two car lengths behind, headlights glaring into her car. She frowned.

“Jerk,” she muttered. The streets were nearly empty this time of night. He could have switched to the other land and gone past her. But no, he had to stay close on her tail. Her frown deepened. Her heart skipped a beat. She turned at the next stop sign. It wasn’t her street, but she wanted to see if the car followed. It did.

Damn. Her heartbeat accelerated. What should she do? Call the cops? She shook her head. She was getting ahead of herself, allowing her thoughts to run rampant. Still, she took another turn, left this time, thinking to get back on the primary street that would take her into her neighborhood. The car kept pace.

“What the hell are you doing?” she muttered again, glancing repeatedly into the rearview mirror. She looked around for an open store, but most were closed and dark by this time. A convenience store was located a couple of blocks from her home. She could turn in there, pretend she needed something. Palms growing clammy, she kept the car just under the speed limit, eyeing the car behind her, making no attempt to gain or slide into the next lane.

She took another turn. The car stayed steady behind her. She was definitely being followed. She didn’t recognize the boxy dark SUV, nor could she get a glimpse of the license plates, the headlights too bright for her to even make out a plate. With a low curse, she pulled into the parking lot of the convenience store, prepared to dash inside and request the clerk to call the police. But the car behind her kept going.

She sat in her car, heart pounding, engine running as she stared after it. She hadn’t been able to get a glimpse of whoever was driving. The SUV hadn’t slowed down nor made any turns as it continued on and finally disappeared around a curve in the road. Callie sat in her car, shaking her head, calling herself a fool. She was overtired, and she’d let her imagination run wild. Still, there were creeps out there. Coupled with the flowers and notes she had received, staying alert wasn’t entirely idiotic.

If it happened again, she’d report it to the cops.

Ten minutes later, she pulled into her driveway, but not before inspecting the street for any sign of that dark-body SUV. The streets were quiet. She sat in her driveway, staring at her dark, lonely, empty house. Was it too late to call Grady? She got out of her car, locked it, and turned to head up the short walkway to the front porch. Mail stuck out of the wall-mounted mailbox near her front door. It was probably just more bills, but she wouldn’t leave them out here overnight. She’d heard on the news that over the past couple of weeks, a gang of teenagers had been stealing mail out of people’s mailboxes. She didn’t want anyone getting hold of anything with her full name on it, nor her account numbers. Hopefully—

She opened the lid to the box the rest of the way and peered inside the dark interior. She always hesitated to stick her hand inside at night, afraid she’d touch a spider or a moth hiding in the darkness. Carefully, she reached inside. As she clutched the envelopes and the cluster of loose advertisement mailers, something pricked her hand. Callie gasped, snatching her hand back. A flower lay inside the box, a single-stemmed dark red rose in between two envelopes. She pulled it out, along with half the mail and a loose piece of paper. It was dark out here, and she couldn’t make out what was written on the loose piece of paper. Frowning, her senses on high alert once more, she quickly entered the house, closed and locked the door behind her, and then flipped on the living room light. She eyed the rose, then the single slip of paper that had been on top of the envelopes. A heart was drawn on it with red marker.

Was it from Captain Andrews? She shuddered. From Grady? She shook her head. No, he wouldn’t have done anything like that, and Captain Andrews had sent her an entire bouquet, along with a signed note. If the flower and note were from him, why wouldn’t he have signed it this time? Again, she shivered, her muscles tense, her heart accelerating.

What was going on?

She walked into the kitchen and tossed the flower in the trash, followed by the note. Leaving the bills on the kitchen counter, she pulled out her phone, her finger hovering over her contact list. She wanted to call Grady, but at the same time fought the urge. Uncertainty swept through her, along with a number of regrets, topped by a heavy dose of guilt. She’d been doing fine taking care of herself since David died, and she didn’t want to start leaning on Grady or anybody else.

Still . . . 

It was late. She’d wait. Tomorrow, her day off, she’d see if she could get in touch with Grady, ask if he had called her work and left a note and flower in her mailbox. Even as she thought it, Callie doubted he’d done any of it, but who else could it be? She could even ask a couple of neighbors if they’d seen Grady about, as his motorcycle was unmistakable on this street now, but didn’t even really want to do that . . . didn’t want her neighbors involved in her personal life.

She made sure all her doors and windows were locked and moved into her bedroom, then the bathroom. She stripped down, climbed into the shower, and let the lukewarm water soothe her muscles and relax her brain. Stepping out with a towel wrapped around her, Callie looked at the mirror covering the medicine cabinet. She hesitated only briefly and then opened the door and grabbed the orange bottle. She’d been trying not to take sleeping aids any more than necessary, but tonight she needed sleep, and desperately.

While she usually cut them in half, tonight she shook out an entire tablet, swallowed it with a glass of water, and then returned to her bedroom. She donned boxers and a tank top, then made one more trip through the house, double-checking locks and windows and turning off the lights before returning to her bedroom. She peeked through the living room curtains, sighing with relief when she saw the empty street. No dark SUV. She returned to her bedroom and with a sigh, slid between the sheets, and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the sleeping pill to kick in. Finally, she felt a pleasant lethargy sweep through her, calming her, and she purposely took her memories back to her wedding day to David, refusing to even think about Grady, what they had done in this very bed, how his fingers felt sliding along the texture of her skin . . .