Jim said nothing, holding his breath. He saw the anguish in Pepper’s eyes and heard it clearly in her voice. Something tragic had occurred, there was no doubt. “Go on,” he coaxed gently, “what happened?”
With a one-shouldered shrug, she whispered, “I met Captain John Freedman when I was in the army, six years ago. A lifetime ago…” Pepper raised her chin and stared blindly across the room, not really seeing it, lost in her past. “He was an incredible man. He didn’t care if I was wearing a uniform. You know how a lot of men are—they see a woman in uniform and automatically write her off. Well, John didn’t. I was wary of him, because I’d been hurt before by other officers, in a few attempts at relationships that ended badly. He was so patient. That was one of the many things I liked about him.
“John was a Ranger and head parachute instructor at the school. He taught me about parachuting, and pretty soon I was skydiving with him and his friends. I came to love jumping.” She compressed her lips. “I came to love John.” Pepper felt tears coming to her eyes and she self-consciously wiped them away. “He gloried in me, in who I was. I didn’t have to play any games with him. I didn’t have to fit into his idea of what a woman should be. He accepted me just as I was, without apology.
“We had known each other a good year, and we’d decided to get married. I wanted to marry a man who didn’t hold a prejudice about women’s roles. I knew…” Pepper swallowed against a lump forming in her throat. “I knew the kids we’d have would be raised in the same kind of environment Cam and I had been raised in. I was excited about life—about spending it with John and watching our kids unfold like unique flowers, watching them blossom….”
Pepper closed her eyes, pain making her voice hoarse. “Two days before the wedding, we went skiing with the army skydiving club. It was a celebration John’s friends had arranged for us. He was a wonderful skier. He was good at anything he did, to tell you the truth. I’d skied all my life, being from Montana, and it was just one more thing we had in common.” Pepper felt the lump in her throat hardening. Helplessly, she opened her eyes, her voice cracking. “He died on the slope that day in a freak accident. A broken neck. We—we were skiing together, and his left ski hit something under the snow. Later, we found out it was a rock. He fell and rolled. I went on, thinking he’d get right up again. When I looked back and saw him lying in the snow, I thought he was playing a joke on all of us, because he did that kind of thing.” She stopped, struggling with her grief for a moment. “It was all so crazy. Crazy. I went back and saw his best friend, Steve, turn white with shock when he leaned down to see how he was. As I came up, Steve told me John was dead. I couldn’t believe it. I stood there, frozen.”
Pepper dragged her gaze to the ceiling and fought back tears. “I don’t remember very much after that….” Anguish wrapped her in its persistent embrace. Pepper didn’t tell Jim that since John’s death, she’d made a decision never to fall in love again. She’d decided it simply wasn’t worth the risk. She knew she couldn’t survive a second such loss. The decision had been easy—born out of the fires of her grief. And she’d lived by her promise for six years, successfully sidestepping any romantic attachment—until now. Unable to explain why Jim touched her in that forbidden region of her heart, she felt confused and scared.
Jim groaned. Without thinking, he moved to her side and placed his arm around her tense shoulders. Her pain was mirrored in every aspect of her face and lovely, tear-filled eyes. He couldn’t stand to see her suffer this way and wanted somehow, to soothe her. This time, his embrace wasn’t one of passion, but one born of a need to help her. He saw the desolation in her eyes as she looked at him. “I’m sorry, Pepper. Really sorry.”
She sat with her hands pressed to her face, bent over but not crying. He felt the grief in her taut muscles, in the way she held back the tears. Again following his instincts, he lightly caressed her thick, silky hair. He wanted to do more. Much more. Fighting to keep his touch light and comforting, he rasped, “At least you got to know what love is about. You had some time with him.”
Pepper felt Jim’s hand on her hair, appreciated the tenderness of his touch. She hadn’t believed he was capable of such a thing. Blinking, she took in his serious, shadowed features through eyes filled with tears. Jim continued to surprise her with his humanity, his range of emotions and his willingness to share them with her. When he removed his arm from around her shoulders, she felt bereft. Alone. For a moment, she had experienced that wonderful sense of togetherness that only a man and a woman could forge between themselves. She and John had had that once.
She studied Jim in the silence, memorizing each nuance of his features, from his dark tormented eyes to his compressed lips and the softening lines in his face. She wanted to say, Who are you? Why is there such a chasm between your officer image and this Jim Woodward? Which is the real man? Whatever the truth, Pepper knew she didn’t dare open up to him the way her wayward body and emotions were pleading for her to do. She couldn’t afford the gift he was offering her. The price was too high, as she knew from bitter experience.
It took her long moments to pull back from her own grief and realize what Jim had just admitted to her. She saw the agony in his green eyes and found it unbelievable he’d never loved a woman.
“I don’t understand,” she said brokenly. “You must have loved before.”
“Not like you have,” he admitted, staring down at his clasped hands, resting between his thighs. “I envy what you had with John.”
“You can’t be serious. Surely there’s been a woman in your life.”
“Oh, there have been women, but not at the level of what you had with your fiancé.” Jim saw such sadness in her expression at his words that it tore at him. In that moment, he realized Pepper had never truly gotten over John. He found himself unexpectedly wishing he could evoke that much emotion in her—and knowing it could never be.
It didn’t make sense. Pepper sat silently for a long time. “You come across different than you really are,” she said finally.
Jim angled a look in her direction. “What do you mean?”
“When I first met you, Jim, you were hard and cold. I didn’t like you much.” She lowered her lashes, her voice tight with hurt. “I know you didn’t like me, either.”
“And I was wrong,” Jim rasped. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Pepper.”
“I’m not asking for an apology. I know you’ve changed your mind.” She grimaced. “It’s just that I see such a difference in you now from when I met you. You’re like two different people.” She had to bite back the words: And I like the man I’m with now. But was he the real Jim? There wasn’t time to analyze it, so she went on. “I know a lot of people wear a facade, a social mask. I have a friend like you. He’s a pretty vulnerable man, but he pro tects his vulnerability by putting up this tough exterior. When Joe first joined our team, I had real problems with him, until a crisis occurred. Then he dropped those barriers, and I could reach inside and touch the real person. After that, we became good friends, and he never put up that barrier again toward any of us.”
“Maybe I’m the same way,” Jim murmured. “I don’t know. I don’t spend a lot of time analyzing myself.” He shrugged. “Maybe I should.”
“The military doesn’t encourage that kind of thing,” Pepper said with disgust. “They mold you into little mannequins trained to march, act and react the same way. I do understand how that can affect you, Jim. It’s tough for me to believe you haven’t ever fallen in love, though.”
“Maybe I have and didn’t realize it.”
Pepper frowned, considering. She gave him an assessing look. “What about Laura Trayhern? When I was in your office, I noticed the picture of her was the only really personal one you had on the wall.”
“Laura?” Jim straightened. “She’s always been special to me.”
“Yes, but did you date her before she married Morgan?”
“Oh, a few times.” He stood up and jammed his hands in the pockets o
f his pants, frowning.
“You said she’s special to you. In what way?”
With a shrug, Jim walked around the coffee table. “I don’t know…I never thought much about it, to tell you the truth.” He turned and gave her a slight smile. “Laura is…well, you know…”
“No, I don’t know. Put it in words for me, Jim.”
“She’s just special.” He frowned, thinking. “You want an example? Well, when she’d come into my office at the archives, I would feel better, happier. Not that Laura singled me out, or anything like that, for a long time. She was like this bright ray of sunshine down in that dark hole. Everyone in the archives responded to her.
“I admired Laura because she had beauty and brains—and she also had moxie. She was a go-getter, and she had the endurance to see whatever research project she was working through to the end. My office was at the entrance to the archives, and I enjoyed hearing her laugh whenever one of the staff told a joke. She was like a breath of fresh air in my life, that’s all I can tell you.”
“And how long did you know her?”
“Two years. Before Morgan turned up, I’d been taking Laura out some. They weren’t official dates, but she’d happen to be leaving the archives at lunchtime when I was going, and I’d invite her along. Things like that.” He shook his head, lost in memories. “She is just an incredible person, that’s all.” He omitted the fact that they’d kissed once—a kiss he recalled as vividly as if it had happened yesterday.
Pepper studied his expression, her heart squeezing with realization. Jim was in love with Laura. Didn’t he know that?
Chapter Five
“Perhaps,” Pepper ventured cautiously, “you care for her more than you realized.”
Jim gawked at her. “What?” The word came out strangled, filled with shock.
“Maybe that’s why this mission is so hard on you. I mean, it’s understandable,” she went on in a quiet voice.
“Wait a minute.” He held up his hand. “You’re wrong.” But was she? Jim wasn’t so sure anymore. He wanted to dismiss her words but an unexpected catch in his heart told him to look more closely at her observation.
“I don’t think so,” Pepper said, noting the confusion in his eyes. She did believe that Jim had never been consciously in touch with the fact that he loved Laura. She had met men like that before—so divorced from their feelings that they hadn’t a clue about what was really happening deep within them. If Morgan hadn’t come along so suddenly, Jim’s love for Laura might well have surfaced in time. Not everyone closely tuned in to what their heart wanted—men and women included—and Pepper accepted that.
Sitting down on the couch again, Jim quickly reviewed his past with Laura. “She’s been married for seven years and I see her only infrequently at the Pentagon. She still comes by occasionally to use the archives, and we’re still friends, but—” he looked up at Pepper “—that’s all.”
Pepper didn’t believe him for a moment. His tone of voice changed every time he spoke Laura’s name or shared something about the extraordinary woman. Why was she feeling suddenly bereft, then? Pepper didn’t know. “At first I didn’t realize I loved John, either. It just sort of grew out of our friendship over a long period of time,” she offered lamely. “Since he died, I’ve had a lot of time to think about our relationship.” She opened her long, thin hands. “I was overly focused on my career—I wasn’t looking for love or a relationship. I did plan to have a family, but much later, when I’d achieved my goals in the army.”
Jim propped his elbows on his knees, with his chin resting in his clasped hands. “About the time I met Laura, I was in high gear careerwise, too. It was my first assignment to the Pentagon, and I knew I was being watched closely by the upper echelon. I was basically blind, deaf and dumb to anything outside what was necessary to keep my career on the fast track.” He gave Pepper a curious look, noting how the room’s shadows softened her face, making her even more beautiful. She had great depth, he was realizing, and from the grief still visible in her gaze, he began to understand what it had cost her to come clean with him about the love of her life.
“I’ve certainly never been in love to the depth you were with John.”
“It’s been hell,” Pepper admitted. “The experience taught me a special sort of euphoria. But with him no longer around, I’ve been lonely in a way I never knew could happen.”
With a soft snort, Jim rose and put his hands in his pockets. “My parents had the kind of love I want.”
“Oh?” Pepper wondered if Jim was at all aware of his magnetism, of the way his natural strength and confidence coupled with this surprising tender side acted as a beacon to her. Surely other women had been privileged to know this side of him. If she believed what he was saying—that he had never, truly fallen in love—then she had to recognize the importance of this moment with him. If he didn’t show this side of himself to others, why was he revealing it to her? Shaken by the possibilities, Pepper sat very still. It was automatic for her to embrace what was in her heart as well as what her mind told her; to separate them was folly. On the other hand, she had to be careful not to act on those feelings—if it might signal the risk of a potentially romantic relationship.
She knew it was often easier for men to separate their emotions from rational thought—and not even acknowledge the danger. From the moment she’d met Jim Woodward, he’d called to her heart—against her head’s warnings—which could be why his aloofness and negativity toward her had cut so deeply, hurting her much more than it should have. She studied his thoughtful face and wondered again why he was revealing this very private side of himself to her. Could his love for Laura have forced him into the position? In her heart, Pepper had to believe he still loved the woman. It explained why he had barged into the Perseus offices and demanded to take the mission. And it also might explain his violent stand against Pepper coming along on the mission. Love made people do crazy things, she knew from experience. It wasn’t out of the range of possibility that Jim subconsciously saw himself as the white knight coming to rescue the damsel he loved. And he didn’t want any help in doing it, perhaps to prove to Laura once and for all that he was a man worth loving, a man willing to risk his life for her.
Jim continued thinking about his parents’ marriage. “It was silly things, I guess,” he said finally with a short laugh. Giving Pepper an embarrassed look, he pulled his hand out of his pocket and opened it. “Things like sharing a cup of coffee at the dinner table after we kids left to play. Sometimes my dad would take my mother’s hand and stroll down the street in the evening, just before dark.” His voice lowered with feeling. “I always knew they loved each other. My dad didn’t show affection easily, but in those small ways, he showed he loved my mother very much.”
“I think most men, even of this latest generation, are still struggling with showing their feelings.”
“It seems to come so much more naturally to women,” Jim agreed.
“It’s natural because we were never taught, as boys are, that it’s wrong to show our emotions. You men are the ones who get it in the neck, so to speak. You’re taught it’s not masculine to cry, to reach out, to touch and express. What a sad thing society has done to you. And everyone suffers for it.”
With a grimace, he nodded. “I won’t argue with you.”
“Maybe that’s why you were so slow to let Laura into your life,” Pepper suggested gently.
“Maybe,” Jim agreed, with a slight shake of his head. He held Pepper’s velvet blue gaze. Did she realize how beautiful she was? He almost voiced his feeling, but thought better of it. Her dark hair was free and soft around her face, lighted with golden strands. He recalled touching that silken mass and found himself wanting to touch it—and her—again. Her mouth showed such vulnerability, its soft fullness always pulled into an expression that underscored how she was feeling. Jim liked discovering that about her. She might be a woman of extraordinary talents, but under it all, she was gloriously feminine and
had never abandoned her heart or her feelings.
“You know,” he murmured, “you’re a lot like Laura, in some ways.”
Pepper’s chest squeezed in pain. She didn’t want to be compared to her, because she knew she could never live up to the image Jim held of the other woman. “I don’t think Laura and I share much in common.”
His mouth curved ruefully. “More than you realize.”
A warmth cascaded through Pepper as she stared up at him in surprise. Laura was ultrafeminine and delicate. In comparison, she was plain and gangly, far from the ethereal beauty Laura was. Her heart wanted to embrace Jim’s statement, but her mind and the decision she’d made after John’s death stopped her. She glanced down at her hands, at her practical, blunt-cut nails. She never wore fingernail polish or earrings. Nor did her job allow for dresses, perfume or many of the smaller appointments that, in her mind, made a woman feminine.
Jim saw her frown. “You both possess an inner strength. You’re passionate about what you believe in. Laura was passionate about helping Morgan after she was injured and he rescued her. She saw through him, somehow, to the man beneath the armor.” He shook his head. “I certainly didn’t. When I met him for the first time, all I wanted to do was pick a fight with him.” His voice grew gentler. “You both live, breathe and move through your emotional instincts.” His mouthed twisted in a sad smile. “I find that commendable. Courageous.” He touched his own chest. “If I tried that, I’d be laughed out of the corps.”
“Laura put you in touch with your heart, maybe for the first time,” Pepper pointed out, even though it was painful to admit that truth. She saw Jim’s mouth curve more deeply in response.
“Yes, I guess she did. Laura always has had a way of making the men in her life take responsibility for how they felt—even when we didn’t know what we were feeling in the first place.” He eased onto an overstuffed chair opposite Pepper. Her long skirt added to her naturally graceful appearance, and he liked the way she slowly stroked Frank’s gray-and-white fur. What would it be like to be stroked by those long, narrow hands—hands that had saved his life with their inherent strength just this morning?
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