Goddess Rising Read online

  Her father said nothing.

  “Apparently a letter went home during the summer, letting me know I was in the top fifty given the chance to compete,” Sam continued.

  His face could have been granite.

  “Sasser was surprised I hadn’t seen it.” Sam took a slow sip of water, hoping it hid the tremor in her hand. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, Dad—would you?”

  Robert Wyatt watched her with an uncompromising look of censure in his eyes. She felt his admonishment coming before it even left his mouth.

  “Why the hell are you pursuing this, Sam?” he asked. “You know that even if you won the Challenge ten times over, they’ll never take a woman on as a commissioned officer in the Army Rangers after you graduate.”

  Sam lifted her chin. “It’s 1997, Dad. Different era from when you were in the military.”

  “Don’t make me sound like a sexist pig when you know nothing’s farther from the truth,” he countered, his voice quiet but stern. “I was over the moon when you decided to go into ROTC—”

  “Until you figured out I might not go into the Navy like you and granddaddy did,” she pointed out.

  His mouth compressed into a thin line. “I’ll admit I want you to follow in our footsteps. If it hadn’t been for the Navy, I wouldn’t be the man I am today. And I would never have been stationed in Japan to meet your mother.”

  Sam looked away from him, her heart squeezing. She couldn’t really recall much about her mother anymore. Just the vague sense of love…and the melancholy that accompanied the loss of something you never really had.

  “You had no right to keep that letter from me—”

  “I had every right,” her father interrupted. “You’re my daughter, and I won’t have you wasting your time and busting your ass to join an outfit that will never accept you,” he continued. “I’m not saying I agree with the Army’s policy, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch my daughter beat her head against it either.”

  Sam smiled grimly. “Good thing I got a hard head.”

  “Don’t I know it?” her father returned, half-bemused, half-frustrated. “You get that from me.”

  “I’m doing this Challenge, Dad. I will do this. And I will win. And if you stand in my way, I’ll just find a way around you,” she promised.

  Her father stared at her for a long moment before sighing. “I know my arguing with you is only going to set you deeper in the trenches, Sammy,” he said finally. “I just want you to consider all your options carefully.”

  “I appreciate your advice, but I have to say, if this was Ry in the Challenge, you’d never push back like this,” she pointed out, chin jutting up in defiance.

  “If Ry wanted to do this, he’d actually get accepted in the Rangers after graduation,” her father countered. “That’s the difference. You’re going to put yourself into harm’s way, and it’ll amount to what? Some commissioned officer’s job on the sidelines? That’s what you want? Heartache and frustration?”

  Sam remained silent, refusing to give in.

  Her father shook his head at her. “It’s like I trained you growing up, Sammy—you’ll never be the strongest or hit the hardest, but if you remain agile and nimble, use the momentum of the currents to your favor, you’ll always come out on top.”

  “This isn’t Judo, Dad.”

  “No, but I trained you in that art because I wanted you to learn the concept of fluidity,” he argued. “You’re being rigid when you should be fluid. You need to find the crevices, the areas no one else can thrive in order to succeed—”

  Ry interrupted them as he slid into the booth next to Sam. She slipped her arm around his shoulder while he took a big gulp of his root beer, dark eyes bouncing between them.

  “Uh oh—you two fighting again?” he guessed, frowning.

  “Nah,” Sam assured her little brother. “We’re just talking about football,” she lied, ruffling his dark hair.

  “You’re a bad liar, Sammy,” Ry replied between gulps. “I can tell, you know.”

  “Oh yeah?” She raised her brows. “How?”

  Her little brother pushed a finger between her eyebrows. “You get all frowny here.”

  Sam grabbed his finger, pressing a quick kiss to the back of his hand before she released him. “Frowny’s not a word, brat.”

  “Yeah, well it oughtta be,” Ry replied with confidence. “Cause that’s what you look like right now.”

  “We’re all good,” she assured him. “Right, Dad?”

  Robert Wyatt ignored the question. “You about ready to head back to the ranch, son? We got a good drive ahead of us.”

  Ryland nodded, finishing his root beer before scampering out of the booth. Sam followed him out, her heart a little heavy from her talk with her father and the prospect of seeing her little brother leaving.

  They stood outside of the restaurant on the broken asphalt. Her father gave her a brief kiss on her temple, patting her shoulder before he walked to one of the Wyatt Ranch Suburbans.

  Ry skipped to the SUV behind him.

  “Hey!” she called out, opening her arms. “Where’s my hug?”

  Ryland laughed, spinning around and launching himself across the parking lot. He threw himself into her arms, and she kissed the top of his head, squeezing him a little too hard.

  “You coming home soon?” Ry asked, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

  “Yeah, buddy,” she murmured. “I’ll come to one of your football games soon, okay?”

  “Good.” He pulled back after a moment, looking at her. “You gotta stop fighting with Dad, ’kay, Sammy?”

  “We’re not fighting,” she answered quickly. “Just having a conversation is all.”

  Ry pushed back, a knowing look in his eyes. “Bad liar,” he said again before climbing into the passenger seat of the SUV.

  “Wear your seatbelt!” she called out to him.

  Ry stuck his tongue out at her, and Sam rolled her eyes, using the exaggerated expression to hide the moisture in her eyes.

  “Love you,” she whispered as they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road.

  Sam stood there for a while, thinking about what her father had said: “Why does this mean so much to you, Sammy? What are you trying to prove?”

  “You all right, miss?”

  Sam looked up, realizing she’d been standing in the parking lot, lost in thought.

  She smiled reassuringly at the stranger. “Guess I’m near about past going,” she replied, heading toward her car. Just before she got to her Mustang, she heard the roar of a motorcycle engine entering the parking lot.

  Sam admired the old Harley Panhead just a split second before she realized who was pulling into the parking space beside her.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  *

  September—Friday Evening

  Fargo’s Pit BBQ, Bryan, Texas

  W E S L E Y

  Wes pulled off the half helmet, smiling at the sight of Samantha leaning against a vintage Shelby GT 500CR. If this wasn’t the stuff of fantasy, he didn’t know what was. Except if maybe she’d been wearing some kind of ridiculously revealing swimsuit like one of the posters Ryke always had up at the garage. Wes smirked at the thought as he slid off his bike. He may have only just met her but something told him a girl like Sam would never be amenable to that idea.

  “Fancy running into you here,” Wes said as he stepped off the bike. Wes’d been all ready to take that long drive when he left his and Chris’s apartment, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from swinging by Fargo’s to see if she’d still be here. The place had no kind of real ambience as restaurants went, but it had some of the best barbeque that part of Texas could offer, and he figured nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Funny how that worked out,” she remarked, fidgeting with her keys.

  “Got lucky I guess.” Wes shrugged.

  Samantha shook her head, an unwilling smile pulling at that lush, red mouth of hers.

&
nbsp; “I only just met you, and I can already tell you’re full of it,” she drawled.

  “Now you’re just hurting my feelings.” Wes put a hand over his heart, giving her a wounded look.

  “I have a strong feeling you’ll have no problem recovering,” Sam replied, unlocking her door. “See you around, Wes.”

  “Wait, I just got here,” he protested, holding the door shut with his hand. “It’d be cruel to make me eat alone.”

  She shrugged. “Guess I’m cruel, then.”

  “Nah, you just pretend to be,” Wes said as he grabbed her hand, pulling her back toward the restaurant.

  “I’ve got to go, Wes,” Sam told him, trying futilely to drag her hand back.

  “I’ll buy you a Cherry Coke,” he coaxed, opening the door for her.

  “I can buy my own Cherry Coke.”

  Wes glanced back at the Mustang. “I can see that. But being a gentleman and all, it’s the least I can do for making you keep me company while I eat dinner and grab some takeout for my roommate.”

  “I may have just met you, but you don’t strike me as a gentleman.”

  She had him there. “Well, okay. Then how about because I’m trying to do a nice thing and you happen to also know my roommate.”

  Sam cocked her head. “Who’s your roommate?”

  “Chris Fields. You’ve got a class together.”

  “Ah, yeah.” Sam nodded perfunctorily. “We’re working on this paper. That’s actually what I should be doing right now,” she admitted, though it sounded half-hearted at best.

  “No, you shouldn’t,” he countered, pleased she didn’t appear to be all moony-eyed over Chris. “And even if you should, it can wait an hour.”

  Wes pulled her inside Fargo’s before Sam could make a getaway. He couldn’t remember the last time he had to convince a girl to hang out with him, and he was enjoying the small win. It was surprisingly fun—having to work for it.

  Wes got her up to the counter, placed his order and bought her a Cherry Coke. Samantha accepted the drink with a kind of wry amusement, as if she couldn’t believe she’d let him talk her into staying there.

  He guided her to the first table he saw. “So how was the dinner?” he asked, sitting down across from her.

  “The first one was fine. Not so sure about this one,” she countered, dark eyes bemused.

  “I guess this one remains to be seen,” he answered with a quick smile. “Did you catch up with your dad and brother?”

  “You could say that.” She glanced away, looking uncomfortable as she made a point of studying the cars passing by their window seat.

  Wes got the distinct sense something was weighing heavy on her mind. He also got the sense she wasn’t big on talking, so he nudged her a little, hoping she’d take the bait.

  “I know we only just met, but I’m a good listener,” he murmured, relaxing back against the booth to give her some space to consider his offer.

  “It’s nothing,” Sam replied, flippant. Wes watched her rotate her glass in between her hands—round and round—a nervous gesture that belied her words.

  “Oh, it’s definitely something if you’re frowning like that,” he said, pointing at the crease between her brows.

  Sam laughed softly.

  “What?”

  “My little brother just told me that,” she admitted. “Not ten minutes ago.”

  “You two close?” Wes asked.

  Samantha nodded, still smiling. “He’s the biggest pain in my ass sometimes, but he’s my favorite person in the world, you know?”

  “Yeah, I get that.”

  “You got any brothers and sisters?”

  “No,” Wes shook his head regretfully. “Just me and my mom.”

  “Whereabouts?”

  “Austin.”

  Samantha nodded. “At least that’s fairly close by. You get down to see her often?”

  “I try to, but it’ll be harder this year.”

  “And why’s that?” she asked, interest piqued.

  Wes hadn’t told many people about his mom, but he figured a girl like Samantha would appreciate this particular tidbit. He leaned forward, like he was getting ready to tell her a secret. Sam moved in a little too, instinctively.

  “My mom had me young,” he explained. “Never got the chance to go to college. So I made a deal with her.”

  Samantha cocked her head. “What kind of deal?” she asked, leaning closer.

  “I go to college, she goes too,” Wes told her with a grin.

  Sam lifted her brows. “Seriously?”

  Wes nodded. “The first year, we couldn’t afford it, but last year I picked up some side gigs, and I paid the deposit for her first semester.”

  That’s what being good at photography and Photoshop bought you, Wes thought to himself. He’d never really planned on making fake IDs, but the minute he’d been able to pay for his mama to go back to school too, he never looked back. Granted, there were plenty of other perks too—like finally being able to get his father’s old motorcycle restored and then some.

  A warm smile spread across Samantha’s face, lighting her up, and Wes thought that made the risk worth it too—to see the surprised admiration in her eyes.

  “I’m tempted to take back every mean thing I said about you, Wes Elliott.”

  “Well hell,” he laughed. “We’ve only known each other a minute. How many things have you said?”

  Sam sipped her drink, a sparkle in her eyes. “So you and your mom: back in school, huh?”

  “Figured it was only fair, since I was the reason she didn’t get to go in the first place,” Wes admitted. A waitress brought his ribs out, and he thanked her before gesturing at his plate. “Want some?” he offered.

  She shook her head. “I polished off my brisket like I hadn’t eaten in months. Beats school cafeteria food every time.”

  “Yeah, it does,” he agreed, biting into one of his ribs before meeting her eyes again. “So I was wondering—”

  “No,” Sam stated immediately, not even letting him finish.

  Wes sat back. “But you haven’t even heard what I’m about to say.”

  Sam shot him a knowing look. “Yeah, well, whatever it is—the answer’s still gonna be ‘no.’”

  “Never had a girl turn me down before I asked her for anything,” he marveled.

  “Doubt you had a girl turn you down for anything, period,” she replied, fiddling with her straw.

  Wes didn’t say anything.

  “Admit it, Wesley Elliott,” Sam insisted. “Bet you a hundred bucks all you ever have to do is flash those dimples and girls drop everything, including their common sense.”

  Wes’s first instinct was to deny, deny, deny. But somehow he knew she wouldn’t believe it.

  “You might be right,” he conceded, a wry grin tugging his mouth. “Why do you always call me by full name?”

  Samantha shrugged lightly. “I guess to remind myself who you are.”

  “And who am I to you?”

  “Trouble,” she replied. “With a capital ‘T,’” she added with a half-smile.

  God, but he liked her.

  Wes leaned forward. “You look like you could use a little trouble—all buttoned up like that.”

  She glanced down at her dress shirt, suddenly self-conscious. She unwittingly picked at the top button, a momentary flutter for the otherwise cool and level-headed Samantha Wyatt.

  “I’ve got enough on my plate, Wes,” she said after a moment. “Don’t need you adding to the mix.”

  “School, ROTC—” he finished for her. “It’s no wonder you aren’t bored stiff already.”

  “Yeah, well, we can’t all be party animals like you.”

  Wes cocked his head. “What makes you say that?”

  “Saw you at the Sig party,” Samantha answered flatly.

  “Really?” Wes picked up another rib. That had been a few weeks ago. He’d handed over the new fake IDs to the president of the frat, though he doubted she’d kno
w about that. Sam had never been sponsored for a fake ID, and he couldn’t recall seeing her before he’d taken her picture at the Arches. But she seemed to know about him. Or at least thought she knew something about him. He wondered briefly if she’d seen him hook-up with a girl or two that night.

  “You recognized me,” Wes discerned after a moment of weighted silence. “You knew I took your picture that day, and yet you didn’t say anything.”

  Samantha shrugged, though she fiddled with her drink; another brief tell.

  Wes had no idea what she knew about him or his MO, but he knew that whatever she did know, she didn’t like. And he’d have to change that.

  “Tell you what, Samantha Wyatt—let’s you and I make a deal.”

  “This oughtta be good,” she drawled.

  “Let’s agree to be honest with one another. The good, the bad, and the ugly,” Wes continued, briefly wondering if he’d lost his damn mind. “Let’s start there and see what we find, shall we?”

  Sam considered him for a long moment, expression quizzical, as if she were looking for a sleight of hand. “You have more to lose than to gain on that deal. You know being honest with me probably won’t play in your favor.”

  Wes just shrugged. “You already think I’m full of shit—your words, not mine,” he pointed out. “So if we resolve to be honest with each other, I actually stand to gain a great deal.”

  “Like what?”

  “One, I learn more about you. And two, you might even learn to like me a little when you realize I’m not running game on you.”

  “You telling me that won’t run game is actually you running game,” she answered with a laugh.

  Wes raised his hands in a supplication. “I swear on my mama’s college tuition.”

  Samantha crossed her arms. Wes saw the challenge in her eyes—knew she didn’t think he’d rise to the occasion and back up his own play when pressed.

  “You’re wondering if I actually have a mama, aren’t you?” Wes teased.

  “The thought did cross my mind,” Samantha confessed. “You must think awfully high of yourself if you think my knowing more about you will make you more attractive to me than lying through that good-lookin’ smile of yours.”

  “So you admit you find me attractive.”