by Karen Foley
Holly felt her throat tighten.
She wouldn’t tell him about the news she had received from her doctor; that there was a good chance she’d never go back. That the military career he’d been so proud of might be over.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“There’s something special about the lake,” he continued, his voice a little gruff with emotion. “Something peaceful and elemental. It brings out the best in people, I think.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“You, too. And Holly?”
“Yes?”
“It would mean a lot to me if you would come home next weekend, just for a day or so. I know your mother can be a bit much sometimes, but she has something special planned for you and I’d hate to see her disappointed.”
Holly smiled. “I’ll be there.”
“Remember, I’m here if you need me.”
Holly hung up, feeling emotionally wrung out and vulnerable after the call. She hadn’t really allowed herself to think about the day of the attack. When she did, she only remembered how she’d felt about Shane when she’d thought she’d lost him. During her time at the hospital, a shrink had come to her room to evaluate her and determine if she required treatment for post traumatic stress.
Had she been afraid? Yes, she’d been terrified for Shane’s safety. Did she find herself preoccupied with the events of that day? Yes, she found herself replaying those terrifying seconds when Shane had sprinted through the kill zone toward her. Did she have trouble sleeping? Yes, she had recurring nightmares that Shane hadn’t survived.
In the end, they’d declared her mentally sound and had prescribed a mild sedative for those nights when she did have trouble sleeping. But if she allowed herself to go back and recall the incident in detail, how did she really feel?
She recalled the sheer terror she’d experienced when the lead Humvees had exploded into the air, and the realization that if she and Sgt. Martinez didn’t leave their truck, they might become the next target. But then her training had kicked in and she’d been so preoccupied with following protocol that there hadn’t been time to feel anything. She scarcely recalled the instant when the bullet had struck her, or when the compression blast had knocked her off her feet. All she remembered was seeing Shane, bloodied and deathly still.
Shaking off the disturbing images, she picked up her camera bag and made her way down to the kitchen. Beside the coffeepot was a note, scrawled in Shane’s bold handwriting.
“Down at the boathouse. Didn’t want to wake you.”
At least he hadn’t left, she mused, pouring herself a mug of strong, black coffee and stepping outside onto the deck. The air was crisp with the scent of pine and rich, moist earth. The lake was clear and still, and she could barely hear the distant thrum of boat motors and jet-skis. The Durant family owned nearly fifty acres of land on the pristine lake, and there wasn’t another cabin or house for at least a half mile in either direction, affording the family retreat complete privacy.
Holly stood at the railing and sipped her coffee, her eyes on the boathouse. What was Shane doing down there? Maybe his note had been a subtle invitation for her to join him. Maybe she would find him spread out on the small, iron bed in the guest room, waiting for her. Images of him lying back, naked and welcoming, filled her mind.
She was so caught up in her own lustful imaginings, that she didn’t see the figure of a man coming around the corner of the house until he was almost directly beneath her. Startled, she sloshed hot coffee over her hand and hastily set the mug down on the railing.
“Pete?” she asked cautiously, swiping her hand across the seat of her shorts.
A stocky man stood on the lawn below the deck, with a head of thick, auburn curls and a full beard to match. He tipped his baseball cap back on his head and peered up at her.
“Holly?” His voice registered his surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Who were you expecting?”
“Shane Rafferty. He called in some groceries yesterday, and I told him I’d bring them out this morning. I knocked on the front door but there was no answer. Is he here?”
“He’s down in the boathouse. Sorry, I didn’t hear you knock,” Holly explained. “Give me a sec to put some shoes on and I’ll help you bring the groceries in.”
“I’d appreciate that,” he said, and retreated back toward the front of the house.
Holly slid her feet into a pair of sandals and went out to the driveway where Pete’s truck stood. Holly had known Pete Larson her entire life and he’d been present at more than one Durant family gathering. In fact, she was pretty sure he’d been at the lake house the night of her graduation party. He’d aged in the few years since she’d last seen him. Up close, she could see gray hair sprinkled liberally through his russet curls and laugh lines seamed his face. There were a half dozen paper sacks in the flatbed of the truck, and Pete reached in to grab one.
“Here, I’ll take that,” Holly offered, reaching for it.
Pete handed the bag to her, but Holly was unprepared for the weight of it, or the fact that her injured arm chose that moment to act up. She got her good arm around the top of the shopping bag, but her bad arm refused to grab it from the bottom, and the entire sack of goods slid through her grasp and split open on the driveway.
There was a moment of stunned silence as both Pete and Holly watched the juice from a broken jar of pickles seep into the ground, and cans of chili and spaghetti sauce roll in different directions. Pete reacted first, jumping forward to scoop up the escaping canned goods and redeposit them in the remaining bags. The sharp tang of pickle juice scented the air.
“That was my fault, Holly,” he spluttered. “The bag was too heavy and I completely forgot about your—ah—that is—”
“It’s okay, Pete,” Holly assured him, absently massaging her arm. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Everything okay here?”
They both turned to see Shane making his way around the corner of the house, hobbling on his cast. With one glance, he took in the broken mess on the driveway, Holly massaging her arm, and Pete’s miserable expression. He smiled ruefully.
“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we? You should see us do the tango.” His eyes slid to Holly’s, and she didn’t miss the quick heat that flared there, or how his gaze quickly took in every detail about her. He came forward and shook the other man’s hand. “Nice to see you again, Pete. I appreciate you bringing the groceries out for me. Here, give me those two bags and come in for a cup of coffee. I’ll get the rest later.”
Pete looked doubtfully at Shane’s leg, but at an insistent nod from Shane, handed over two bags of groceries. Shane took both bags as if they weighed nothing, and made his way carefully toward the front door.
Holly waited for Pete to grab two more bags, but when she would have taken hold of the last one, both men protested.
“Leave it, Holly,” Shane commanded softly. “I’ll come out and get it later.”
Holly frowned. “I can handle one bag. I just wasn’t ready for how heavy that other one was.”
Pete gave her a friendly wink. “Never pass up an opportunity to let someone else do the work, I always say. If Shane says he’ll get it, I’d let him get it.”
Glancing at Shane’s implacable expression, Holly blew out a hard breath of frustration. “Fine,” she relented ungraciously. But as she passed Shane, she couldn’t resist a softly whispered warning. “I’m the one who gives the orders around here, got it?”
But he only grinned unrepentantly and followed her and Pete into the kitchen, where he set the bags down on the counter.
“How much do I owe you?” Shane asked, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. “Did you have the spark plugs that I need in stock?”
“Sure did.” Pete handed him a slip and Shane withdrew several bills and passed them to the other man.
“Here’s your coffee, Pete,” Holly said, setting the coffeepot down and picking up the m
ug with her good hand. “You take it black, right?”
“That’s right.” Pete took the mug and sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island and looked around. “I haven’t been out here in a couple of years. Place still looks great.”
“I haven’t been here in a while, either,” Holly said. She looked meaningfully at Shane. “Not since I graduated from the academy.”
Pete chuckled. “That was quite a party.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Who’d have guessed that you’d end up in Iraq on the same base as Shane?” Pete mused, sipping his coffee. “Quite a coincidence, don’t you think? And then to both be injured in the same battle?” He shook his shaggy head. “Unbelievable. It’s almost like you were meant to be there, Holly. If you hadn’t been there, Shane might not be here now.”
Holly was silent, her fingers absently rubbing the edge of the counter. She didn’t dare look at Shane. If she hadn’t been there, Shane never would have been injured. He’d only abandoned his turret gun because he’d thought she was in danger.
Oblivious to the sudden tension in the room, Pete blundered on. “I hear the town of Chatham is planning a parade in your honor.”
She raised shocked eyes to his. “What? No, that can’t be right. Why would they do that? I didn’t even do anything!”
“You saved this man’s life, didn’t you? As far as the town is concerned, you’re a local hero.”
Holly’s head was spinning. This had to be a mistake. Anyone who knew the facts could see that she wasn’t a hero. Just the opposite, in fact. She’d almost gotten Shane killed!
“When is the parade scheduled?” asked Shane mildly.
Holly looked at him, but if he was upset about the news, nothing showed on his face.
“Hell, from what I hear, it’s more than just a parade; it’s a whole day of festivities,” Pete continued enthusiastically. “The parade just kicks the whole thing off, next Saturday.”
“Wait. Next Saturday? As in a week from tomorrow? That can’t be right. My parents would have told me. Someone would have told me. There’s no way they would try to keep this a secret and then spring it on me at the last minute.” She turned anguished eyes to Shane. “Would they?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Shane drawled. “Maybe they thought you’d split town if you found out. Maybe they thought you’d take off and go hide out at the lake house.”
Holly groaned. “My dad called this morning and asked if I’d consider coming home for the weekend. He said that Mom had something special planned.”
Pete chuckled. “I guess the hell she does. There’s going to be a barbeque on the town common, and they’ve organized all kinds of activities including a bake sale, a pie-eating contest, a dunk tank, and that’s just what I can remember from the fliers. There’ll be a barn dance that night with live music, and more food.” Pete chuckled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they turn it into an annual event…Holly Durant Day. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“No,” Holly grumbled.
“I think it has an excellent ring to it,” Shane protested. “And I personally think you deserve the recognition.”
Holly stared at him. A muscle worked in his lean jaw, but there was no denying the sincerity in his voice.
“You do?” she asked.
“Holly, you were shot and nearly blown to bits trying to save me. What you did was incredibly brave.” He was staring hard at her now, twin patches of color riding high on his lean cheeks. “When I think what could have happened—”
The expression in his hazel eyes mesmerized Holly. She could hardly breathe. He was looking at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
“But I’m here,” she said softly. “And so are you.”
“And that’s my cue to leave,” declared Pete, looking embarrassed. He took a hefty swig of his coffee and rose to his feet. “Good seeing you kids. I’ll just leave that bag of groceries on the front steps, but don’t forget about it. Feel better. I’ll see you at the parade.”
Holly barely noticed him leave. “We haven’t talked about it,” she said to Shane. “The attack, I mean.”
Shane had been unpacking the grocery bags and now his fist tightened around a hapless bunch of asparagus. Moving around the counter, Holly covered his hand with her own.
“I know you blame yourself for what happened that day, but don’t. None of it was your fault.”
Dropping the vegetables, Shane turned to her and Holly saw the stark vulnerability and frustration in his eyes. “But that’s just it. I don’t remember that day. I can’t recall a single goddamned detail of what happened.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I can’t tell you why I left my gun or why I thought I needed to save you—if that’s even what I was doing.” He ran a shaking hand over his face. “But Jesus, at night…”
Holly laid a hand on his chest, feeling the heavy thump of his heart beneath her palm. She didn’t need to ask what kept him up at night; if his nightmares were anything like the ones she’d been having, it was a wonder he could even close his eyes.
He turned abruptly away and began shoving items into the refrigerator. Holly watched him for a moment.
“The tango, huh?” she finally asked. Anything to get his mind off his own tormented thoughts.
“What?” He glanced at her over his shoulder, his expression confused.
“You said to Pete that he should see us do the tango.” She waggled her eyebrows at him. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
He closed the fridge door and turned back to her, bracing his hands on the counter. He didn’t return her smile. “How bad is the arm?” he finally asked. “And I want the truth.”
For a moment, Holly felt off-balance. She couldn’t find the words to answer him. Didn’t want to answer him. Didn’t want to admit to herself that her injury limited what she could do.
She shrugged and strove for a casual tone. “It’s not that bad. I mean, it’s only been a month, so I shouldn’t expect a full recovery so soon. I have a follow-up appointment in a couple of weeks. Maybe the doctors will have better news then.”
“Let me take a look.” His voice was low and brooked no argument, and before she realized what she was doing, Holly extended her injured arm toward him. He took it in both of his hands and very carefully turned it toward the light.
Holly looked away. The scars were angry red and there was still some residual swelling where the bullet had ripped through her flesh. Because of the location of the break, the doctors hadn’t been able to put a cast on her arm. Instead, they’d pieced her bone back together with a metal plate and a series of screws, which would remain permanently in her arm. There was no question the area was ugly to look at, and Holly wished she had the courage to pull her arm free from Shane’s grasp.
“Another inch higher and your shoulder socket would have been destroyed,” Shane murmured, stroking his fingers lightly over the damaged area. “Does it hurt?”
She shrugged. “A little.”
“Liar.”
Holly raised her eyes to his and saw humor and compassion and something else lingering in their moss green depths. Her heart began to drum faster in her chest.
“What do you mean?”
“You massage your arm whenever you think nobody is watching, and last night you made little moaning sounds in your sleep.” He continued to rub the area with his thumb, as if he could work the pain out.
“I do? I did?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He turned her arm, examining it from different angles. “Do you remember getting hit?”
The way he was stroking her skin and talking to her in that low, sexy voice, it was a wonder Holly could remember her own name. She shook her head. “Not really. I remember feeling a hard slap against my arm, and then a second later the explosion knocked me off my feet. You have a strange expression on your face right now. What’s wrong?”
Shane lowered her arm and swiped a hand across his eyes. “I don’t know. It’s probably
nothing. I just wish I could remember. I don’t recall being shot. I have no memory of the explosion or of you dragging me to safety, or being airlifted out of there.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s like someone took a giant eraser and just wiped the slate clean for that day. But there’s something there, I can feel it. Something important about that day, if I could just freaking remember.”
Reaching out, Holly laid a hand on his arm. “You will. Eventually. This is just your body’s way of dealing with the trauma, but eventually I’m sure you’ll recall what happened that day.”
“The worst part is knowing that I’m responsible for what happened to you.” His voice was low and Holly could hear the self-loathing in his tone. “I deserve to remember what happened, if only to replay it again and again in my head.”
Holly stared at him in disbelief. “Why? As a form of punishment?” She gave a bitter laugh. “Trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I relive that day enough for the both of us. I wouldn’t wish that kind of self-flagellation on anyone.”
“Tell me what happened. Tell me everything that you remember about it.”
Holly shuddered. “I’d rather not.”
To her surprise, Shane gathered her close, his hands stroking over her back. “I’m sorry. I’m a bastard to even suggest it, but I thought if I could hear it in your words, that maybe it would trigger something. Maybe I would finally remember.”
Holly nuzzled into his strength and warmth, relishing this new closeness to him. She didn’t want to ruin it by dredging up the events of that horrible day. “Maybe later,” she hedged. “But not right now.”
He made a sound that could have been either frustration or capitulation. “You’re right. This isn’t the time or place.”
“What were you doing in the boathouse, before Pete showed up?”
“I thought if I could get the boat running, I’d take you out on the lake, but I think the spark plugs need replacing. I asked Pete to bring some out with him.” He fished through the nearest grocery bag and pulled out a small packet, holding it triumphantly. “Give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll have the motor purring like a kitten.”