by Amy Knupp
He started the motor, steered away from the dock and stopped thinking. The worries, the memories, the uneasiness, they all fell away as he slipped into autopilot mode. He allowed the peace of being on the water after all this time to envelop him. Lost himself in it. Didn’t make a single conscious decision. Within minutes, he realized he’d taken the boat to one of the secluded, brush-covered coves that he and Quinn had favored for bass fishing.
Alex let the boat drift in the calm water. Leaning back as far as the seat would let him, he stretched his legs out, relaxed. Soaked up the sunshine and the familiar chirps and buzzes of birds and insects, the periodic splash or ripple in the water. He absently removed the cover from the storage compartment next to him and glanced down.
I’ll be damned.
Quinn’s high-dollar aviator sunglasses, the ones he’d thought he’d lost in an airport when he was on leave last year. Ugliest glasses Alex had ever seen, and he’d told his friend that frequently. Pointed out he was better off without them.
And here they were.
Alex chuckled aloud as he stared at them. He took off his own shades and put them on. Looked at himself in the reflection of the glasses he’d taken off. Nope. They were still ugly. Quinn had always maintained they were ugly on everyone but him and maybe he’d had a point.
Alex switched glasses again and tried to ignore that his eyes had gone damp. He took a deep breath and looked up at the bright-blue, cloudless sky.
“Shitty day for fishing,” Quinn would have said. Alex could hear his voice, clear as day, as if he was there in the boat beside him. They’d always preferred cool, cloudy weather.
Alex shook his head and leaned forward, perching his forearms on his knees. A lump the size of a hand grenade filled his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing suddenly what it must feel like to have a nearby explosion knock you back a hundred feet and onto your ass.
Sucking in air and trying to ignore the physical pain, he stood up in the boat and grabbed his pole. He hadn’t planned to actually drop a line, so he didn’t have any live bait, but he had a lure or two that would work here. He prepped his line, then cast it close to a branch that protruded from the water.
He was going to catch enough damn fish for two.
He spent a good ten minutes slowly reeling in the line and casting it back out before he gave up. Propped the pole up with the line still in the water, not caring if it tangled in the branches beneath the water’s surface. He doubted he’d catch a thing that way, but when you got down to it, that didn’t really matter, did it? There weren’t two men here. Just him and a ghost.
He swallowed several times. Cleared his throat. “I’m so damn sorry, man.”
Quinn was buried here in Madison, Alex knew, but he’d never been to visit his grave. This was why.
Maybe Taylor had been right, after all.
He was stuck. Not moving on. Because he was too much of a coward to face the memory of Quinn. Scratch that, to face his own jumble of guilt and regret.
Well, to hell with that.
He picked up Quinn’s sunglasses again and cracked another sad grin just looking at them.
“You should still be here,” he said to no one. “God willing, I’m heading back to fight the fight soon, just like you would’ve done.” His voice sounded strange, loud in the peaceful setting.
“I’ll never in a thousand years be as noble about the whole thing as you were. You know I’ve always been more interested in playing with the big toys than fighting for freedom.” He paused, needing to get control of himself even though there was no one around but a few birds to see his breakdown. “You were one hell of a soldier. The best…”
And he’d died for the cause. Died doing what he was made to do, fighting for what he’d believed in more than just about anything. Taylor’s insistence on that point came back to him now like a flaming boomerang. No way he could miss it this time.
Being KIA was what it was all about for Quinn. Not that he’d have chosen to die—he’d never been one of those crazy SOBs who had a death wish and always pushed the limits, took unnecessary risks. Quinn had wanted to fight for his country till the fight was over. And he’d died doing what he, more than just about any guy Alex knew, had lived for.
Quinn would have sat back and gotten that satisfied grin on his face, nodded emphatically at the way things had ended.
And he’d kick Alex’s ass for taking this long to understand that.
“It’s a war,” Quinn had said one early morning in this very boat. “People can die. You and I could die.” He’d stared off at the trees on the shore, lost in thought. “Hell of a lot better than getting hit by a truck crossing the street on the way to the convenience store if you ask me.”
Alex remembered the conversation like it was last week, not nine or ten years ago. Even then, especially then, Quinn had been all about the cause. Nine-eleven had spurred him on, made his patriotism burn. He’d campaigned to get Alex to join with him and Alex had finally decided to give it a try. That discussion had been Quinn’s way of making sure Alex was cool with what they were getting into. He’d wanted his buddy to experience it with him, but only if Alex really wanted to.
At that point, Alex had. He’d drifted around after high school, knowing college wasn’t for him but not knowing what was, and when Quinn announced his plans, Alex had been ready for a change. He’d known there had to be more out there, something that clicked for him, and he hadn’t been able to find it here in Madison, Wisconsin.
He’d never thought about flying anything until he’d come across the possibility in basic training. The idea had sparked something in him, an interest he hadn’t felt for much of anything besides high-school sports and girls.
For him, from then on, it was all about being several thousand feet off the ground, the controls in his hands and under his feet. When you got down to it, he didn’t need a Blackhawk. He just loved to fly. Army or not.
Suddenly he could hear Quinn’s voice in his head again, pointing out that he could fly anywhere, just as Marshall had insisted. Without sleeping on a rock-hard bunk or checking his boots for cobras or scorpions. Without much chance of getting shot out of the sky.
And even more, he could hear Quinn telling him he was a damn idiot for doing what Quinn would want to do instead of what he wanted.
Alex stood and realized there was nowhere to pace.
He sat back down and reeled in his line until it got tangled. Instead of fighting with it, he cut it. There were more important things to worry about.
CHAPTER THIRTY
TAYLOR WAS KNOWLEDGEABLE about a lot of different subjects, but flower bulbs was decidedly not one of them. Lucky for her, some glorious person had had the foresight to write a book on how to plant them.
Like the old house, the landscaping at the new one was minimal. Cared-for but uninspired. It had never bothered her before, but now that she owned her very own adorable bungalow, she was determined to make it a real home.
She was turning her sights forward, making a satisfying future for herself. Letting go of past misconceptions, from the fear of not being good enough to the belief she needed a man to be happy. The past few months had changed her, and though the summer hadn’t exactly been a breeze, she was more comfortable with herself. Despite the dating disasters, she had plenty of positive experiences, as well.
She belonged to a new math club that she anticipated going to every month. She’d gained a new confidence for handling dates—not that she’d had any lately. But she wouldn’t get so scared she’d want to hurl the next time she did. New house, new friend, new attitude, new decorating challenge, new landscaping objectives.
By spring, if the how-to book could be believed, she’d have a host of tulips, irises and daffodils, not necessarily in that order. To her, the bloom-filled spring symbolized hope. The new, improved, independent Taylor, who did more than work twelve-hour days and hide in her office. The one who was fine without a man.
She could do this.
The familiar male voice froze her heart for a moment, then released it like a racehorse out of the blocks.
Alex.
He’d come to tell her goodbye.
The strong, independent rah-rah talk she’d been giving herself thirty seconds ago went out the window, so to speak. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut before facing him, she coached herself to breathe. Not to let this break her down. She’d exposed herself in front of him already—he didn’t need to see her cry again.
Taylor glanced around her, avoiding him, and realized he was right. Various gardening tools, the gloves she’d shed in frustration, the prescription sunglasses that were overkill now that she wore contacts, and a sports bottle half-full of iced tea were scattered all over the flower bed and the walkway in front of it. She’d managed to track, spread and splatter loose dirt everywhere.
“They say messiness is a sign of genius.” She kicked some dirt back into the bed. “I’ve always wanted to use that line. Never had the chance before.”
Everything they’d been through and here she was, babbling like a fool.
Alex reached her walkway then and she finally faced him.
Drat. He still knocked her off her proverbial feet. Three weeks hadn’t done a thing to dull that response.
He wore cargos again, but for the first time, they were shorts. An old T-shirt showed he hadn’t put a lot of thought into looking good for her, even though he looked so good in her opinion she wanted to cry. He held a small unmarked paper sack in one hand.
His hair looked windblown, his unshaven face tanned. His eyes were just as penetrating as always, though they no longer made her feel disconcerted. Much. His dark eyebrows arched as if he were asking if it was okay for them to talk.
“I owe you an apology, or twelve,” he said in a low voice as he approached her. He thought to glance around and ensure their privacy.
She silently willed him to talk fast, unsure how long her composure would hold out. She had half a mind to tell him he didn’t owe her anything, but this could be the last time she saw him. It was best to get everything out in the open—she knew that from experience.
“I’m sorry about the day at the lake,” he said, moving closer still until she could smell him, outdoorsy, virile.
She must smell like soil and earthworms. The least he could have done was warned her he was coming over. Of course, then she would have been hard-pressed to stick around long enough to see him.
“There’s nothing to—”
“Yes. There is. I didn’t handle that well at all. I could make a dozen excuses, but what it comes down to is that I hurt you. I regret that.”
His voice lulled her. It lured her into remembering the sound of it in the early-morning hours, the feel of his breath on her ear as they’d talked for hours after…
Yeah. She was not going there.
“I’m also sorry for using your brother as an excuse for not letting myself really be with you.”
Oh, lord, she didn’t want to go through this right now. Right here. The last thing she needed was for her neighbors to see the new girl losing it in front of her house.
“It’s okay, Alex,” she said hoarsely. “I’m not mad at you. You don’t have to say all this.”
“And I’m sorry for sneaking away from you that first night before the sun came up—”
“Stop. Please.”
“I’m messing this up, aren’t I?”
“Messing what up?”
He looked at the dirty ground, a half grin on his face. “You used to be the one who was tongue-tied. You’re not that girl anymore, are you?”
She tilted her head, wondering if he’d been sniffing household chemicals. “No? I mean kind of.” She smiled in spite of herself at the way she was tangling her words now. “That same girl is still in here. Obviously.”
He nodded, studying her closely. “I like her. Both hers. The tongue-tied Taylor and the upgraded model.”
“Alex, what…”
“I love you, Taylor.”
Her mouth closed and her eyes widened. She had the sensation of falling backward and having the breath knocked out of her.
“You…what?”
He took her hand in his empty one, ran his thumb gently, lovingly over her fingers. “I’m an idiot.”
“That’s not what you said.”
“Both are true. I love you. And I’m an idiot for not letting myself love you sooner.”
All the blood in her body rushed into her chest. Chills shot through her. Maybe this was how it felt to inhale too much helium, she thought. Then she laughed.
“Ouch,” he said, lacing their fingers together. “And women wonder why guys don’t talk about their feelings.”
“One more time,” she said. “Tell me.”
First, he told her without words. He leaned down and closed the few inches between them as he pressed his lips to hers. It was somehow the most tender, emotional touch they’d shared yet, even though it lasted mere seconds and was chaste enough the neighbors wouldn’t get the wrong idea.
“I love you, Taylor McCabe. Scarlet, too.” He breathed the words over her temple, into her ear, and she let them sink in.
“Umm…” She feasted her eyes on his face, his straight nose, square chin, angled cheeks. Giddiness was threatening to incapacitate her but she needed to understand before she gave in. “You said you…couldn’t.”
“I couldn’t let myself. Or that’s what I thought. Turns out you were right.”
“I was right,” she repeated, trying to slow the hope that was blossoming inside of her.
“I was stuck.”
A slow smile tugged at her lips. “Did I say that?”
“I was using the accident as an excuse not to live.”
The smile disappeared. “And now? What’s changed?”
“I found Quinn’s sunglasses,” he said, taking them from his belt loop or his back pocket where he’d apparently hooked them.
“The ones he lost. He must have emailed me ten times asking if I’d found them.”
“They were in the boat. In the side storage compartment.”
“Okay. And…they held the secret to the universe?”
“Something like that. Did anyone ever tell you you’ve got a little of your brother’s smart-aleckness in you?”
“Never. Alex?”
“I’m getting to it.” He took her by the hand and led her to the wide steps of the front porch. He sat on the top one and pulled her down next to him. “Let’s just say I faced up to some ghosts I’d been avoiding. Figured out some things. The abridged version is that I was going back to the army for the wrong reasons.”
Her hope dipped. “And now you’re going for the right reasons?”
“I’m not going. I’m resigning my commission.”
She waited for him to explain, on the verge of jumping out of her skin.
“Flying is what I love, Taylor. A distant second after you,” he added quickly with a sheepish grin. “I’m not like Quinn. I don’t love the military. I’ve got a couple of leads on opportunities here flying helicopters. I want to be with you.”
“You’re over the Quinn thing? Thinking he wouldn’t approve?”
“It’s like he was on that boat with me and he knocked me over the head. I understand now that there’s a difference between messing around with your best friend’s little sister and falling in love with her. He would have called me on it long ago. He would’ve been the first in line to see us together…as long as I make you happy. As I said before, I was an idiot.”
“You were, kind of,” Taylor agreed.
“I deserved that.”
“But I’ve always admired a man who can learn from his mistakes. Usually in my experience it’s been in a lab or on a computer, but boats work, too.”
He angled toward her and kissed her, deeply, thoroughly this time. She pulled him close and they fell backward, laughing, onto the
porch floor, Alex partly on top of her. To heck with what the neighbors thought.
The sack he’d been holding clunked to the step in front of him and they ignored it, their lips seeking each other hungrily, playfully. As seconds, maybe minutes, passed, and the urgency between them grew, Taylor became aware that she did in fact have limits as to what she wanted the neighbors to witness. She broke the kiss and propped herself up on her elbow.
“What’s in the sack?” she asked, attempting to breathe evenly.
Alex looked momentarily embarrassed, something she’d never seen before. He sat up and retrieved the sack but didn’t open it. “Well, it’s Sunday night,” he said unnecessarily. “I was planning on leaving town tomorrow until about two hours ago, so I had to think fast to do something that might…mean something to you.”
“Okaaay.” She narrowed her eyes at him, curious.
“I haven’t picked out a ring yet…” He set the bag on the step next to him and took her hands in his.
Her eyes popped wider and she might have made an embarrassing squealing noise.
“Will you marry me, Taylor?”
She definitely squealed and crawled up on his lap, throwing her arms around him. “Yes. Unequivocally yes, I will marry you, Alex Worth.” Kissing him, she settled into his body, his arms around her, enveloping her in safety and, at long last, love.
“We’ll pick out a ring as beautiful as you tomorrow,” he said, brushing her hair off her cheek. “But I do have something for you now. Something practical.”
He picked up the bag and took out a book.
“Wedding Planning Basics,” she read. “The bride-to-be’s guide.”
Tears fell from Taylor’s eyes before she could stop them. She buried her face in Alex’s shirt. “You know me so well,” she said into his chest. “But…”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Not a thing. But a book on weddings? It’s kind of making it black and white. And I’ve been trying something new. Less planning. More gray area. Someone once told me that love isn’t black and white.”
Alex laughed and kissed her temple so tenderly she almost expired right there on the porch steps. “Someone, huh?”