The Major and the Librarian

by Nikki Benjamin

  Five years from now, he’d be eligible for retirement. Maybe then he could contemplate a change. But even that he couldn’t promise Emma in good conscience.

  Heaving a sigh of utter frustration, Sam drove past the Serenity city-limit sign and turned toward his mother’s house. He had been later than he’d anticipated getting away from the air base that Friday evening so he had already missed dinner with her and Emma. In fact, late as it was, Emma had more than likely gone back to her house by now.

  Driving into town, he was partly tempted to go straight to Bay Leaf Lane and lose himself in her arms. Margaret would understand, probably even approve. But for the first time since he’d moved to San Antonio, he was also oddly reluctant.

  He needed Emma’s love to make him feel complete. But he also needed her trust, and though he knew why she was unable to give it to him just yet, that inability had also begun to take an emotional toll on him.

  Sam wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on the way he had, leaving her bed halfway through the night—on the few nights they actually had together. He had always prided himself on being an honorable man. Lately, however, there had been times when he’d felt downright contemptible as he’d crept out of her house and scurried away in the dark. Emma had gone back to her house, but letting himself in the front door, Sam saw his mother waiting for him in the living room. Already dressed for bed in a nightgown and robe, she sat on the sofa, a book open in her lap. As he crossed the room, she stood and greeted him with a warm hug and a cheerful smile.

  She had just begun the second four-week round of the drug treatment Dr. Rozan had prescribed, and so far, all her blood tests had come back negative, indicating her leukemia was still in remission. She had also gained a little weight, and her energy levels were up—both encouraging signs.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d stop by here first,” she said. “Are you hungry? I’ve got fried chicken and potato salad, left over from dinner, in the refrigerator.”

  “Thanks, but I grabbed a sandwich on my way out of town.”

  “Well, then, I suppose you’re anxious to see Emma.”

  Sam shrugged, then slumped on the sofa, avoiding her inquisitive gaze.

  “What’s wrong?” she prodded, getting straight to the point, as always.

  He shrugged again, tossing his keys from hand to hand, unsure exactly how to respond. He didn’t want to burden her with his problems. He was a grown man, after all. He should be capable of finding his own solutions. But her wisdom and guidance had gotten him through a lot of tough times in the past.

  “Something to do with those so-called freedom fighters in eastern Europe stirring up trouble again?” she continued. “On the news tonight there was talk of putting on another show of military force to send them scampering back to their respective holes.”

  Sam eyed her in surprise. She was right. His concern about his relationship with Emma had increased in intensity as the political upheaval in eastern Europe had escalated over the past few days. There was a good possibility he could be reassigned to his former squadron and on his way back to Italy at a moment’s notice.

  With Emma here in Serenity, he could be forced to say goodbye to her over the telephone. There would be no telling when he would be back, and when he finally did return, he would have to start all over again, trying to gain her trust. Only by then, it would be even more difficult. He would have already abandoned her in just the way she feared most.

  “How did you guess?” he asked at last.

  “After the news report ended, Emma looked just like you do now. She went outside for a while, and although she insisted she was all right when she came in again, I could tell she’d been crying.”

  “You know, I’ve been racking my brain, trying to find a way to convince her to marry me, but maybe I should just let it go. Much as I hate to admit it, I have to be the last man on earth she needs in her life.” The thought of her weeping at the mere possibility he’d be called to combat duty was almost more than Sam could bear. Standing, he paced across the room, paused and angrily eyed the silver-framed photographs on the mantel. “She needs somebody like Teddy. Somebody who won’t just up and leave her—”

  “Oh, piddle,” Margaret cut in, her tone equally harsh. “If memory serves, your brother was prepared to up and leave her—more prepared, I’ll wager, than you will ever be.

  “Emma doesn’t need a man like that. She needs the man she loves—the same man who loves her enough to tear himself apart at the thought of causing her pain. She needs you, Sam Griffin, and don’t you ever doubt it.”

  “But not enough to trust me. She looks at me, sees her no-good father and remembers what he did to her mother.”

  “So you’re going to let that keep you apart? I would have thought you’d be all the more determined to prove to her you’re not the fickle type. That you, of anyone, would have the persistence to gain her confidence. That no matter how often she retreats, you would keep on advancing, slowly but surely, heart in hand, until she stops turning away.

  “Of course, if you don’t really love her as much as I suspect… Well, then, yes…by all means, go ahead and give up on her.”

  Was that what he wanted? To give up on Emma?

  He would never be able to see her again. Never be able to hold her or touch her. Never hear her laughter or see her smile or—God help him—kiss away her tears. Never plant another rosebush with her. And never, ever put their baby down to sleep in the crib she kept hidden away…

  “No,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “I can’t do that. Can’t…give up on her.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “I…I think I’ll go on over to her house now.”

  “You do that, son.”

  Coming up beside him, she patted his arm consolingly.

  “Any plans for tomorrow?” he asked, smiling down at her as he slipped an arm around her shoulders.

  “I thought maybe we could drive up to Inks Lake in the afternoon and have a picnic supper,” she replied, walking with him to the front door. “It’s been years since I’ve been there. I hear they have canoes for rent now. Very romantic—canoeing across a lake on a summer evening.”

  “Sounds good to me. See you in the morning.”

  Drawing back, she eyed him critically.

  “Not before noon.”

  “All right. Not before noon,” he agreed, smiling at her persistence.

  Sam walked to Emma’s as he always did, but tonight he did so with renewed faith. He had waited so long for her already, and he had never been a quitter. He would wear her down eventually in the best way he knew how—by coming back to her again and again and again until she no longer doubted the integrity of his purpose.

  He saw that her house was dark as he headed down her street. She had probably given up on him and gone to bed already. That was fine with him. He liked the idea of crawling under the quilt with her and kissing her awake—liked it quite a lot.

  He was so deeply into his fantasy of rousing her—all warm and soft and sleepy—that he started with surprise when he stepped into her kitchen and saw her sitting in the alcove.

  “Sam…?” she murmured as she stood.

  “I thought you’d gone to bed.”

  “No…”

  She hesitated a moment longer, then flew across the room, into his waiting arms.

  “I…I was afraid you wouldn’t come tonight,” she said, her voice choked with tears.

  “Emma, sweetheart, don’t cry,” he soothed, cursing himself for the worry he’d caused her. “It took me longer to get away than I expected it would when I called earlier. Then I stopped by my mother’s house. She was still up, and we talked a while. But I’m here now.”

  “I missed you so much the past ten days.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  “Make love to me, Sam. Right here, right now,” she pleaded, her hands fumbling with the snap of his jeans.

  “Oh, no.” He caught her hands in his, stilling them, t
hen swung her into his arms. “I’ve waited ten impossibly long, impossibly lonely nights to be with you again. I intend to take my time with you, upstairs, in our bed.”

  Making good on his word, Sam did just that, showing Emma—in ways she couldn’t deny even if she tried—just how much she meant to him.

  When at last they were both completely sated and their breathing had finally returned to normal, Sam drew the bedcovers up over them and curled around her protectively.

  “You said our bed,” she ventured into the silence after a while.

  “Mmm, yes. Any objections?”

  “No…” She nestled closer to him, her bottom tucked up against him, spoon style, and covered the hand he’d splayed over her belly with one of her own. “Are you going to sleep?”

  “Not if you don’t want me to.” Smiling, he nuzzled the back of her neck with his lips.

  “What I…what I want…is for you to stay with me tonight,” she murmured. “I don’t care who knows. I want to wake up with you in the morning.”

  “I don’t know, Emma,” he teased gently. “That could be habit forming.”

  “I know,” she acknowledged, her voice soft as a whisper. “So…will you?”

  “Well, if you insist…”

  “Mmm, I most certainly do.”

  Sam had tried to be a gentleman, but it hadn’t worked in his favor. In fact, leaving Emma in the middle of the night could very well have reinforced her basic fear. Now he was ready to pull out all the stops.

  He wanted her to see just how good it could be between them—tonight, tomorrow and always. He wanted her to be able to turn to him in the darkness, to reach out and know that he was there.

  He had her love, but he was also determined to win her trust. As far as he was concerned, anything less would be unacceptable.

  Chapter 18

  The telephone on Emma’s desk rang late on a Thursday afternoon, almost two weeks after Sam’s most recent trip to Serenity. Reaching over a stack of books and a scattering of papers, she grabbed the receiver. Her attention still on the requisition form she was filling out, she issued a brisk, businesslike greeting.

  “Good afternoon. Serenity Public Library. Emma Dalton speaking.”

  “Emma, it’s Sam.”

  Startled, she dropped her pen and clutched the receiver more tightly, a sudden, inexplicable sense of dread pooling in the pit of her stomach. Sam never called her at the library. At least, he never had until today.

  Her first thought was of his mother. Had something happened to her? But surely, if that were the case, she would have been contacted before Sam. Not only was she right there in town, but most people in Serenity were also aware of her special relationship with Margaret Griffin.

  Then Emma thought of the nightly news reports detailing possible military deployments to help curb the upheaval in eastern Europe, and the odd, almost detached way in which Sam had spoken. As if he’d already braced himself to deliver bad news.

  Dread turned to ice-cold, numbing fear as she drew a shaky breath. She knew why he had called—knew with painful certainty what he had to tell her. He had tried to prepare her for the possibility when they’d been together, but she hadn’t wanted to listen to what he’d had to say.

  Hadn’t wanted to believe that he would leave her, after all…

  “Still there?” he asked, reminding her of how long she’d gone without acknowledging him.

  “Yes, I’m here,” she said, her voice quavering. “Is…is something wrong?”

  “I’m sorry, Emma,” he began. “Sorry I have to tell you over the telephone. I’m being sent back to Italy. We’re flying out tonight.”

  “Tonight…?”

  Bad enough that he was leaving her, but how could he do it on such short notice? Again, she admitted that he’d tried to warn her of that possibility, as well, and again, she had refused to pay attention.

  “I’m not going to have time to come to Serenity. I’m going to be in briefings until early evening. Then I have to pack my gear.” He paused, drew an audibly ragged breath. “God, I wish you were here….”

  She could be, Emma realized, glancing at the clock on the wall. She could jump in her car, drive like crazy and be waiting for him at his apartment. He’d given her a key. She could let herself inside and…what?

  Watch him pack his bags and go?

  How many times had she and her mother watched her father do just that?

  Too many times for her to want to go through a repeat performance now.

  “Well, I’m not,” she answered, sounding so matter-of-fact that she surprised herself.

  “Believe me, Emma, I don’t want to leave you like this, but it’s—”

  “Your job?” she finished for him. “I know that, Sam, and I understand.”

  “Do you?” he demanded, anger now underlying his tone. “Do you honestly understand why I have to go? Or do you think I’m simply running out on you, just like your father ran out on your mother?”

  She hesitated a moment, surprised by how close he’d come to the truth. He knew her so well. But then, she’d told him her worst fears, hadn’t she? Now he was throwing them back in her face.

  “Have you talked to your mother yet?” she asked, refusing to acknowledge his gibe.

  He didn’t respond for several seconds. Then, in a tone just as terse as hers, he said, “I’m going to call her now, but I’d really appreciate it if you’d look in on her later, as well. That is, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Of course it isn’t any trouble,” she hastened to assure him. Suddenly feeling mollified, she added, “I…I don’t suppose you know how long you’ll…you’ll be gone.”

  “No idea at all. Goodbye, Emma. Take care.”

  Before she could say anything more, Emma heard a sharp click followed closely by the insistent beep-beep-beep of the dial tone. With a mixture of shock and outrage, she stared at the receiver, slowly realizing that Sam had hung up on her.

  “Well, fine. Be that way,” she muttered darkly as she cradled the offending instrument.

  Riding high on the crest of her seemingly righteous indignation, she made it through the rest of the day, though she would have been hard-pressed to say exactly what she accomplished had anyone asked. All she really remembered doing was shuffling papers and thumbing through books rather mindlessly.

  By the time she climbed into her hot, sticky car at six-thirty, however, she was beginning to experience the first stirring of bitter regret.

  She loved Sam. Loved him with all her heart and soul. But she hadn’t bothered to tell him. Instead, she had treated him like her worst enemy, blaming him for something that wasn’t his fault.

  She had reacted in a childish, stupid way, giving up a chance to see him one more time before he left simply because he was leaving. She had totally disregarded the fact that he wasn’t taking off on a whim. Nor was he bored with her or indifferent to her needs.

  He had a job to do—a job that gave him a sense of pride and fulfillment. And he was going off to do it. Reluctantly, because he loved her. Yet more dutifully than a lesser man would.

  She should have been proud of him, and she should have taken the chance she’d had to let him know it. Had she not been so angry, so spiteful, she could have been there with him. She could have held him in her arms and kissed him so that when he finally left, it was with the taste of her on his mouth.

  At Margaret’s house, Emma parked in the driveway, trudged up to the front porch and rang the bell. Her friend came to the door almost immediately.

  “I was sure you’d change your mind and go to San Antonio, after all,” she said by way of greeting.

  “No.” Emma moved past her slowly. “I should have, but I…” She sat on the sofa and stared at her hands. “I really blew it,” she finished at last.

  “Well, yes, it does seem that way. Happens to the best of us, though.”

  “So what do I do now?”

  “As I see it, you have two choices. You can wallow in se
lf-pity or you can set about making things right between you and Sam before he gets on that transport plane tonight. Unfortunately, he called again about fifteen minutes ago. He’s leaving earlier than originally planned, so you’ll have to do it over the phone. Not the best way to make amends, but better than nothing.”

  “I’m not sure he’ll even listen to me now.”

  “Maybe not, but don’t you think it’s worth a try?”

  “Yes…yes, I do,” Emma admitted. Standing again, she started toward the door. “I’d rather call from home, but I can come back…after…”

  “Don’t worry about me, dear. I’ll be all right. You take care of your needs tonight—yours and Sam’s. I’ll talk to you again tomorrow.”

  At her house, Emma headed straight for the telephone. She dialed the number of Sam’s apartment from memory, her hands shaking, her heart pounding with anxiety.

  He had every right to be furious with her, and no doubt, he was. But she couldn’t let him go thinking she cared so little for him—

  The fourth ring was cut off by the answering machine. Emma frowned uncertainly, tempted to hang up. Was it possible he’d already been there and gone again? She hadn’t thought to ask Margaret exactly when his flight was due to leave, but it was almost seven now.

  She had so much to say to him. How could she do it in a sixty-second message—a message he might not get for weeks? Of course, he might not have made it home yet. Or he might actually be there now, but unable to come to the phone.

  At the sound of the beep, Emma drew a quick, steadying breath.

  “Sam, it’s Emma. It’s seven o’clock Thursday night. I’m home, and I…I really need to talk to you, to tell you how…sorry I am for the way I behaved earlier. So…please call me…if you can. I love you.”

  She hung up the receiver and hurried upstairs to change out of her skirt and blouse. Eyeing the telephone on the nightstand as if that alone would make it ring, she pulled on shorts and a T-shirt.

  In the kitchen again, she opened the refrigerator door and stared at the half-empty shelves. She had planned to stop at the grocery store on her way home to stock up for the weekend when Sam would be there. Now that wouldn’t be necessary.