Hard to Hold

by Stephanie Tyler

“I’m just a little thirsty—can I have this water?” she asked, pointing the light at the coffee table.

  “Go for it.”

  She sat on the couch and took a long sip of water. Then she grabbed the blanket Jake must’ve been using and wrapped herself up in it.

  Within minutes, Jake set two lanterns on the table in front of her. They provided enough light, though the room was still dim, basked in a hushed glow.

  He didn’t sit next to her, but rather stayed standing as if he were on some kind of emergency alert because of the power situation.

  “Does your side hurt?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Would you tell me if it did?”

  “No,” he said with a small shake of his head. “So was that a date?”

  “What are you—oh, you mean at the bar?”

  “Yes, at the bar. With that Marine.”

  “By that Marine, do you mean Zeke?” Maybe she’d been right earlier to think Jake was just the tiniest bit jealous.

  “Zeke, Deke, whatever. You can’t date a Marine.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. I didn’t realize there were rules about these things.”

  He gazed at her, half a frown on his face. God, he was handsome, even frowning. He moved toward the doorway between the bedroom and the living space and put his hands up overhead, holding on to the door frame. She was about to tell him that that was a good way to pull out his stitches but found his curiosity more interesting.

  “It wasn’t a date, exactly. But I don’t see why it matters to you—you didn’t seem to want me around.”

  “I didn’t expect you. There’s a difference. I don’t like surprises.”

  She pulled the blanket around her a little tighter. “Yeah, me neither.” There was silence for a few minutes but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The storm’s intensity seemed to pick up slightly, and she wondered if she should just let what happened earlier drop. But she couldn’t. “I’m sorry—about lying to you about what I remembered.”

  “Forget it. It’s all right that you know. Only fair.” He paused. “You really want to go back there, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly, waited for some kind of response, something that told her she was crazy for even considering it—but again, like the last time she’d mentioned it to him, none came.

  “I thought you told your uncle that you were going to give OCS a try,” he said instead.

  “I’m planning on it. That’s why I’m working in the clinic on base rather than a naval hospital. My uncle thought this would give me a better idea of what military life would be like. I don’t want to be stationed at Portsmouth. I want to be where the action is. I know I can be useful in the field.” She paused. “But I want to go back to Africa one more time before I go into OCS.”

  Jake didn’t say anything, just watched her carefully. No judgment, but she’d love to know what he was thinking—something he hid very well.

  “You probably think I’m being stubborn and ridiculous and getting into things I shouldn’t. That I need to think before I act instead of just going by my instincts,” she offered.

  “Why would I think you should give up traits like that?”

  He was completely, utterly serious. And in that moment, she knew for sure that she could love him. “So you wouldn’t have me change a thing?”

  “No.”

  She blinked back tears, because no one had ever told her that. Everyone always wanted her to change in some way—her mother, her ex-fiancé, even Uncle Cal. “If I went back to Africa, you wouldn’t try to stop me?”

  “I think it’s a dangerous place.”

  “And?”

  “And what? There’s no secret meaning behind what I’m saying. It’s dangerous.”

  At least he wasn’t mincing words with her. “It was beautiful there despite everything. I could finally think. Breathe.”

  If she closed her eyes and really concentrated, got past the fear of her final days there, she could see the familiar faces of the staff, the families she’d helped. The brightly colored kangas she’d wrapped the newborns in. The nights she’d drink warm orange Fanta from recycled bottles and watch the sun go down.

  “I met a good friend there,” she said. “A photographer named Sarah. She was born in Zimbabwe—white—her family was split up when they had to give back their land,” she said quietly. “She was wild, fun. But so … alone. She was gone by the time I was taken. I was supposed to keep in touch but I feel like I’d have to tell her what happened. And I can’t—I’m not supposed to talk about it. I wasn’t even supposed to tell her who my mother was.”

  “But you did,” he said.

  “I could trust her. She’d been through so much herself.”

  “Maybe you’ll cross paths with her again one day,” Jake said.

  “Maybe. But once I’m commissioned, I won’t be able to go back with Doctors Without Borders either. They frown on military personnel,” she said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “They sometimes try to sneak in weapons. Handle things more aggressively. They tend to have a certain … bearing,” she said wryly. “So if I can’t go back to Africa with Doctors Without Borders, I’ll go back with the military. Uncle Cal said that the DoD wants to put some plastic surgeons overseas. In the field. Where they’re most needed.”

  “They usually don’t put women in front-line roles,” he said.

  “From what I hear about the DoD, doctors are needed so badly, they’re making those decisions on a case-by-case basis,” she said.

  Jake nodded slowly, and she couldn’t tell if he approved of the DoD’s decision or not. “Was Doctors Without Borders good to you about what happened?” he asked instead of commenting.

  “Yes, they were. But they don’t know all the details,” she said quietly. “You don’t really either, I guess.”

  “I know that you fought like hell. You don’t owe me any more of an explanation.”

  “I know,” she said, her voice softer than she’d intended. “His name was Rafe. My mother hired him to watch out for me. Doctors Without Borders thought he was working for them and now they think Rafe kidnapped me for money because he found out who I was. They don’t know he was supposed to watch me. And they didn’t want any of this leaking out to the press.” Her heart beat faster as the sentences tumbled out faster—terser—than she’d wanted them to.

  “And they’ll take you back?”

  “If I go before OCS. Besides, Doctors Without Borders says that if you haven’t experienced some kind of violence working with them, you haven’t been doing it long enough.”

  Jake was silent for a long minute. “You signed a contract with the DoD,” he reminded her.

  “For three months,” she said. “The opportunity I have is for a short stay in April. Six weeks, replacing a doctor who needs to go home for a family issue. That’s long enough for me to accomplish what I need to do. Then I’ll come back and wait until I’m cleared for OCS.”

  “You’ve got a plan,” he said.

  “I guess I do.” That thought made her feel a little lighter. “But the plan’s the easy part. Breaking it to my mother tomorrow night at dinner’s another story.”

  “Sounds like it’ll be a rough night.”

  “I really want to see her. We get along well. Lately though, everything turns into a how is Isabelle handling everything fest.”

  “She’s worried.”

  “Yes. She also feels guilty.” She sighed and pushed her hair behind her ears. “But I don’t blame her for what happened. She was only trying to protect me.”

  “You’d been to Africa without bodyguards before. What changed?”

  “The two times I’d gone alone were before she’d gotten elected. Once she took office, everything got riskier. Her political views are pretty radical—she pissed a lot of people off with her pro-war stance and she’d started to receive some threats. Then there was a direct threat.”

  “About you?”

  “Yes—ab
out a kidnapping. Right after that, she made a few calls about bodyguards and came up with Rafe’s name as the most capable. Another senator had used him for protection when traveling through some of the African nations during a goodwill tour of the embassies. He said the guy was the best. Even so, she begged me not to go back, but she had her life to lead and I had mine. I wouldn’t back down. Still I know she totally blames herself for hiring Rafe.”

  She wondered why all of this was so easy to talk about with Jake—conversations she’d previously had only with herself, going over each and every argument in her mind as if preparing for battle.

  “Are you worried?”

  “I’d be lying if I said no. But I can’t let the fear get to me. I won’t,” she said fiercely, and she wasn’t sure which one of them she was trying to convince more.

  “Recognizing your fear’s never a bad thing,” he said.

  “You know, you’re the first person who hasn’t asked me why I’d want to go back.”

  “You’re the first woman who hasn’t asked me why I do what I do. How I can.”

  “Because you want to be in control—it’s important to you,” she said. Because she recognized those traits in him as easily as she recognized them in herself.

  “No one’s ever really in control, Isabelle.” His gray eyes flickered over her coolly. She didn’t believe him, not fully, and she had a strong feeling he didn’t really want to believe it himself.

  “We’re a lot more alike than you think.”

  “You’d better get some sleep,” he said gruffly, as if he knew she wasn’t buying his answer.

  “I won’t be able to.” She couldn’t go back into that bed, toss and turn among his sheets and pillows again. Not without him, and with him wasn’t an option. Yet.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “You could make us food, then,” he said. And he was completely serious. “Stove’s gas—it’ll light, no problem.”

  “This is your house, what about you making us breakfast?”

  He shook his head impatiently. “I don’t cook. And I want pancakes. Can you make pancakes?”

  She wanted to refuse but was struck with the sneaking suspicion that she was well on her way to being unable to refuse him anything at all.

  That thought sent a small shiver through her as her gaze settled on his muscled forearms, tanned despite the frigid temperatures outside and finely dusted with blond hairs, his biceps flexing as he continued to support himself by holding on to the door frame over him.

  “Come with me,” he said suddenly, as if he’d made some kind of internal decision. He moved forward and grabbed one of the lanterns, then handed her the other. She’d assumed he’d be leading her down to the kitchen, but instead she found herself following behind him up a flight of stairs to another block of rooms set up just like Jake’s. These were beautifully furnished, clean, but it was obvious no one used them on a regular basis.

  “What’s this?” she asked, held up the lantern so she could see the rooms better.

  “Room for rent,” he said, and she whipped around to stare at him.

  “You’re serious.”

  “I don’t joke all that much, Isabelle.”

  “Why would you think I’d want to move in here with you and your brothers?”

  He shrugged. “I guess you like staying with the admiral. Being smothered.”

  “You know I don’t.”

  “I know you’re halfway between wanting to be alone and being too scared to actually do it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He stared past her toward the window, his jaw clenched. “I’ve been there.” Then he fixed his gaze on her. “Take it or leave it. No strings.”

  She walked through the rooms—there was a definite feminine touch to the furnishings. Classic, not frilly. But still, a woman had lived here once.

  She turned to him. “It’s perfect. I’ll take it. And I’ll pay rent.”

  “What about the cooking?” he asked, and she sighed. “I mean, I know you’ll be busy when you go through OCS, but until then, you should be pretty free with just being the base doc.”

  “You’re really impossible.”

  “That shouldn’t surprise you. Besides, you don’t want easy.”

  She didn’t bother to tell him that he was right, because he’d probably heard it all too often. “Speaking of not easy, do you think I’ll have a tough time in OCS?”

  He shrugged. “Everybody does.”

  “Even you?”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “I thought you were going to make me breakfast.”

  “Something the man of steel found hard,” she mused, and he ignored her.

  “You’re going to have a tough time if you decide to go through with it. Why not just keep doing what you’re doing?”

  “Because I want to go back to doing what I was doing—go back to helping out where I can make a difference.”

  “And you think you’ll be under the protection of some kind of magic bubble if you’re with the military? Because you won’t be.”

  “I know that. God, I know that. I’m not an idiot,” she said, at the same time realizing that she was indeed a little bit of one, since that had been her exact thought process. Which made her next words come out more fiercely than she’d intended. “I’ll know how to protect myself better.”

  “Hey.” He moved closer to her, touched her arm. “If you want to learn how to protect yourself, I can help you.”

  But the anger and frustration had built up quickly inside, the way it always did lately, without warning. “Why does everyone suddenly want to help me? It’s like I’ve lost the ability to do anything by myself. Even you think I can’t do anything myself.”

  “I didn’t say that—”

  “No, that’s right, Jake. I get it. Path of least resistance. Don’t admit to anything.”

  He backed away from her, one hand held up in a show of surrender. “What do you want from me, Isabelle?”

  So much. She wanted so much—too much, probably. More than he might be willing or able to give.

  Not that she’d asked him.

  She walked toward him and he straightened up and squared his shoulders even more, as if he was putting up some kind of physical shield.

  “What do you want from me, Jake?” she asked. “You must want something. I don’t think you ask every woman you meet to move into your house with you and your brothers.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You don’t seem like the type.”

  “And I know you’re the type who doesn’t like to ask for help. You know, it’s all right to need it.”

  “Not where I come from,” she muttered. “Surgeons are trained to be solitary. Competitive.”

  “Were you competitive in Africa?”

  “I was solitary.”

  “Sounds like you still want to be.” His hand fisted by his side, without hers in it, and no, that’s not what she wanted at all.

  She grabbed his hand, forced his fingers open—he didn’t resist much—and put her palm to his. Fingers twined together, she stared into those amazing gray eyes that looked at her as if she were the only woman for him. “Do you think there’s something more between us than the rescue?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “Are you willing to find out?”

  He didn’t answer, stared at her until a steady beep from downstairs caught both of their attention.

  Cal heard the wind slamming the house from his bedroom. He lay in the center of the king-sized bed, surrounded by books and papers, just the way he’d left them when he’d fallen asleep after his phone beeped to remind him to take his blood pressure medication. Which must’ve been when Isabelle left the house.

  Dammit. Old man, losing your touch. Cal had been right to put her with Jake.

  Jake had her now. She’d be safe with him. Well, as safe as you could be with a single, red-blooded American male who was as
highly trained as a man could possibly be.

  Cal certainly wasn’t too old to remember what it was like to want it twenty-four seven.

  Instinctively, his hand went to the phone and he dialed the familiar phone number. It was 0400. The time didn’t matter—she’d be awake, and the shroud of darkness always helped ease any of the lingering guilt. By dawn he could pretend it didn’t happen, even though there was no reason to pretend anymore.

  “Jeannie.” His voice sounded tired to his own ears, although he’d risen at this exact time every morning since he’d been seventeen.

  Jeannie Cresswell’s voice caught as she answered him. “Cal, is she—”

  “No, she’s fine. Everything’s fine.” Dammit, he should’ve thought before he called like that. Annoyed with himself, he pushed the covers away, let everything else tumble to the floor in all directions, and again, he thought about getting a dog for company rather than waking up with only paperwork.

  He was too solitary a man for even that small luxury.

  “Okay, good. That’s good.” Still there was worry in her voice that was never going to leave. “You paid him again, right? He said if you didn’t continue to pay him …”

  “I’m taking care of Rafe,” he lied, the way he’d been lying to her for the past two weeks, since the money was due. The third payment in a string of never-ending payments, and one Rafe had refused.

  Kowtowing to the mercenary’s wishes hadn’t been doing either Cal or Jeannie any good anyway. No, it was time to smoke the man out, then take care of the situation for good. Cal’s past had haunted him for too long, and he was sure this was the right way to deal with this.

  The only thing Cal wasn’t sure of was how precarious the situation was going to be for Isabelle, or for how long. When Isabelle was first kidnapped, he’d assumed, along with everyone else, that the motive was solely money.

  When the second demand came in, he knew better. That’s when he’d called in his own favors to some feds who’d gone the military route first, men who were as loyal to Cal as he was to them. Together, they’d convinced Jeannie that slamming the lid on the FBI investigation was for Isabelle’s own good. There was too much at stake—and neither Isabelle nor Jeannie deserved to get caught up in any of it.