by Jillian Hart
I’d give anything to be dodging bullets. His being ached with the wish, but he’d learned a long time ago wishes got you exactly nothing. Only hard work did.
And that’s why he was here. He leaned heavily on his crutches. The silent glide of an owl winging across the span of sky was awesome. He waited while the bird disappeared behind the tall maples.
He felt the change before he heard the faintest sound. Instinct had him whipping toward the front porch, where the doorknob began to rasp as it moved.
Then came a light step—a woman’s—and the scrape of the solid wood door over the threshold. The hinges gave a tiny squeal, and he knew it was Rachel before she stepped into sight. The single sconce fixture showered light over her like liquid brilliance.
It’s good to see you, little sister. She had a sweetheart’s face, big blue eyes and cheekbones that supermodels would envy. The breeze brought her faint scent of vanilla fragrance and the intake of her surprised gasp when she spotted him behind the pickup.
“Is that a no-good burglar lurking out on the driveway?” As pure as spun sugar, Rachel hurried toward him wearing her big baggy pj’s and slippers—in summer. She was always cold, it seemed.
Her long brown hair hid part of her face as she swept toward him, the shuffling of the fabric beneath her feet distinctive on the aggregate concrete walk. “Oh, wait, it’s just you. My hero of a brother!”
“That’s not me. A hero? No, you must be talking about someone else.”
“You’ll always be a hero to me.” She held out her arms, rushing toward him for a hug.
It was impossible not to adore her and, truth be told, she was his favorite sister—not that a guy was supposed to have favorites, but Rachel could steal even his heart made of stone.
He pulled her close, feeling how much he liked being her big brother. And when she bounded back to get a good look at him, shadows settled into her face and deep in her gaze.
He shivered, because Rachel had a knack for seeing too much. “You’re a lovely sight for these sore eyes, darlin’. You cut your hair since Christmas.”
“Just trimmed it a little. Look at you, all banged up.” Her words were light, but the steady appraisal she gave him was anything but. Sheer sisterly adoration lit her up.
And humbled him. “I’m not all that, little sister. I dodged left when I should have dodged right, and look at me.”
“Sporting a fashionable cast and two aluminum sticks. Are you in any pain? Let me get that bag for you—”
“Take the smaller one. Lift the rucksack and you’ll pop a disk. It’s heavy.” He could have predicted she wasn’t about to listen until she grabbed hold of the sack’s heavy-duty handles and heaved with an unladylike groan. The bag didn’t budge.
“See? I told you.”
“All right. I’ll take the smaller bag, but don’t think I’m going to let you out of this so easily. You told us that you had minor injuries. Minor injuries, my foot! Look at you!”
“These are minor injuries. Compared to the other guys.” The truth was his job was about as dangerous as it got in the military and he’d been eerily lucky to haven gotten out of that particular situation with his leg intact.
As he hefted the heavy sack from behind the seat, he took a second to silently give thanks again for what could only have been divine intervention on that mission. It had been as if an angel had nudged him the few extra inches out of harm’s way, saving his leg but also his life, his career and his sanity. What were a few weeks in Montana compared to that?
“Well, there are no bullets here, tough guy. I’m just glad you’re home.”
She led the way along the walk, glancing over her shoulder constantly to check on his progress, her sharp eyes watching for any signs of his pain. She held the door wide for him, after leaning inside to flip on the light. “I knew you were coming, so it’s no excuse, but the house is a mess. I apologize.”
“You’ve gone from not picking up your room to not picking up your house?”
“Something like that.” Eyes twinkling, she waited until he was in the entry hall before closing the door tight and throwing the bolt.
The big house seemed to echo around them, all darkness and empty-sounding rooms. She carried his bag down the hall, but he couldn’t seem to follow her. Memories threatened his well-defended perimeter, but he managed to battle them back. Rachel had made a lot of changes to their childhood home over the years, but still, he remembered.
All he had to do was to look at the fireplace of smooth gray river rock that reached for two stories toward the vaulted ceiling, and he saw the past. Once Dad’s animal trophies had been proudly displayed there. The five-point buck and the three-point elk were long gone, replaced by clear twinkle lights Rachel left up all year round. But memory was a fluid thing, and he blinked back the past.
I’m tired, that’s all, he told himself as he let the awkward rucksack slide from his shoulder and smack to the carpet. He propped his crutches against the wall of stone and dropped into the sectional. Dozens of little frilly throw pillows nearly suffocated him.
“Do you have enough of these frilly things?” He tossed a half dozen of them across the cluttered coffee table into the deep cushions of a big overstuffed chair.
“Sorry, you’re in a girl zone, remember? It might be a hardship for a big tough guy like you. It’s not camouflage or military motif, but trust me, eyelet, lace and ribbons won’t hurt you.”
“I can’t relax around this stuff.” He sent a pale pink pillow with a satin heart sailing across the room. “You’re up late. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Ah, find me the secret to time travel so I can go back to this morning and start over,” came her response from down the hall.
Yeah, she worked too hard, and he didn’t like it. She was gone a suspiciously long time for just dropping off his bag. “You’re not doing stuff for me like making up a bed, are you?”
“Oh, no, I already did that. I can’t imagine how tired you have to be. I’ve got a plate keeping warm in the oven. I thought you might be hungry.” Rachel waltzed into sight.
You are the one who looks exhausted, little sister. He hated the dark rings beneath her eyes, but she managed a real smile.
“You’re tired, Rache. Go to bed. Stop worrying over me. Stop doing things for me. You have enough to do as it is, and I can take care of myself.”
“Yes, I know, you’re a big tough Special Forces soldier. But you don’t know how worried we’ve all been. Ever since we were told you were missing in action—” The lovely soft pink in her face disappeared, and in the faint light she looked snow-white. Pain twisted across her face. “I was scared for you.”
Just like that, she got behind his steel defenses. He hated the fact that she’d been worried. “I wasn’t missing. Not in the true sense of the word. I knew exactly where I was.”
“Yes, but we didn’t, hence the ‘missing’ part. And I did miss you. I was worried to death.”
“No, I was misplaced for a while, nothing more.”
Rachel wasn’t fooled. Her eyes filled with tears and she was suddenly in his arms—his sweet little sister who’d always seemed so fragile, and here she was crying over him when he was perfectly fine. Over him, when there had been so many others who hadn’t come out of the ambush alive.
“You’re wasting your tears, you know.” He tried to be gruff.
She swiped the dampness from her cheeks and pushed away from him, leaving him with a hole the size of the state of Montana in his chest. Wishing he knew what to do or what to say. Wishing he knew how to stick. He was a horrible big brother, and he was at a loss as to how to fix it.
He’d do anything to protect and provide for his sisters, but the truth was simple: he wasn’t good at relationships. He was better at bailing out—staying away—than at being here. He liked to keep an arm’s distance from intimacy, and he never shared the real Ben McKaslin. Not with Rachel.
Not with anyone.
He kept relati
onships simple and on the surface. It was easy to do when he lived so far away. All he had to do was send quick letters with funny anecdotes, e-mail with jokes, that kind of thing. But here in person, when he had to relate face-to-face, that’s where he felt how closed off he’d become. He didn’t know what to do about it or how to fix it.
Maybe he didn’t want to. He liked being alone. It suited him.
Rachel, who had no such problems showing her emotions, tugged a tissue from the box on the coffee table and swiped the dampness from her eyes. “You don’t understand how scared I was for you. I thought you’d never come back.”
“Don’t you waste your tears on me.” So he wasn’t a tough guy all the time. “I do what I do in the military so you can sleep safe in your bed at night.”
“I’d like you to be safe, too.”
“I am. I’ve got my M-203.”
“I take it that’s a gun?”
“One of the best. Stop worrying, got it?”
“Yeah.” She sighed, as if in resignation, and opened her mouth as if she were going to argue, then decided against it. She sniffed, dabbing at her eyes as she trailed off in the direction of the dark kitchen.
One thing he wasn’t going to let her do was wait on him. He wasn’t that hurt—or so he kept telling himself. He leaned forward to reach for the crutches, and the springs beneath him protested.
“I hear you trying to get up and don’t you dare!” Rachel scolded from the kitchen. “Stay right where you are, okay? I’ll bring supper to you. We had a slow night at the diner, so I had time to really cook up a big plate of your favorites.”
“I told you not to go to any trouble.”
“What trouble? Now, what do you want to drink? I bought chocolate milk at the store today, since I knew you were coming. A big gallon all for you.”
“All for me? That must mean you have your own stash of chocolate milk in the fridge you’re hiding from me.”
“If I don’t, then you’ll drink every last drop, just like you do every time you stay with me. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Hey, I buy more for you.”
“You do. I couldn’t ask for a better brother.” She was back, bringing her gentle cheer and a foil-covered plate with her.
Her words touched him, and he was again at a loss to return the sentiment. Not that he didn’t feel it, just that…he couldn’t say something so vulnerable.
Pretending it was the food that mattered, he took the plate from her, hot pad and all, and tore off the foil. The mouth-watering scents of country fried chicken, gravy and buttermilk biscuits made his stomach growl. That was much easier to deal with than his feelings. “This is great. I owe you supper tomorrow.”
“It’s a deal. And if you noticed, I gave you three helpings of mashed potatoes.” She set a wrapped napkin of flatware on the coffee table along with the carton of milk.
When he leaned forward to grab the napkin, her eyes rounded. His shirt—he’d forgotten all about his back, since his leg hurt worse than a first-degree burn.
Rachel went to her knees. “Oh, what did you do? Your shirt is singed and there’s this big hole. Were you on fire?”
“Yep, but it was nothing you need to worry about.” He forked in a mound of buttery potato, so creamy and rich, and kept talking with his mouth full. Man, he was hungry. “Disaster finds me.”
“As long as it doesn’t find you anymore. Do you need a salve or something? A bandage?”
She looked dismayed, and over something so minor. It was nice to know how much she cared. The dark circles beneath her eyes seemed even darker, if that were possible, and she radiated exhaustion.
The last thing she needed to do was waste any more effort on him, when she was what really mattered. Rachel and Amy and Paige were all the family he had in this world. “You look ready to drop, little sister. Go to bed, get some sleep and have good dreams. Will you do that for me?”
“I am bushed, but you’re on crutches.”
“I’m capable. I’ll be fine. Trust me.” He waited while her internal debate played across her face. Rachel was so easy to read. Always good-hearted and caring. It was a knack he wished he had, but he did his best to return what she’d already given to him. “Do I have to haul you over my shoulder and carry you down the hall?”
“Nope. I’ll go, if you’re sure you don’t need me.”
“You’re driving me crazy.” He said the words kindly, because he’d come to appreciate true goodness in the world, for it was rare. Her thoughtfulness said everything. She’d gone to all this trouble for him.
Yeah, he was pretty fond of her, too. “You didn’t happen to have any pie in the kitchen?”
“I’ll never tell. You’ll have to raid the fridge to find out.” Her eyes twinkled, eyes so like Mom’s. She looked more like Mom as time went by, and seeing that hurt.
Rachel waved as she breezed down the hallway.
“Good night, Rache.”
“Good night, big brother. Oh! Should I take your bag to your room, since I’m headed in that direction?”
“Nah, don’t bother. I can stow it.”
“Of course you can—what was I thinking?” She rolled her eyes, and she looked as if she were biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at him. “I forget that you’re tough.”
Not tough enough. If he were made of titanium, then maybe he would be. But the sense of failure and regret surrounded him. His parents’ deaths. The lost and angry boy he’d become. The teenager on a self-destructive course. The people he’d hurt—his sisters, his aunt and uncle.
And Cadence. She’d looked beautiful tonight, strong and confident. Probably wildly successful in her life—but he could see in her the Montana country girl she used to be.
He was proud of her. She’d made something great of her life. See? She had been loads better off without him. He’d made the right decision long ago—for his own reasons, sure, but still. It had been right for her, too. He’d been able to get out of this quicksand town, and she’d realized her dreams of Olympic gold. Yeah, he’d watched her win on TV. He’d been stationed in Japan at the time, and he’d violated direct orders to watch her perfect dive.
Why was running into Cadence tonight part of God’s plan for him? His heart wrenched. What use was it in seeing what he could have had? In seeing the man he should have been?
Failure wrapped around him and he pushed the plate away. He sat in the dark and silence for a long while.
Chapter Three
It was gonna be a hot one. Sweat was already gathering between her shoulder blades as the morning sun, barely over the rim of the Bridger Mountains, beat down on her back.
Cadence balanced her cup of chai tea in her left hand and rummaged around in the bottom of her bag. She moved aside her rolled towels, her change of clothes, a paperback book, a lifeguard’s whistle and her wallet.
Loose change chimed and chinked together on the bottom of the bag as she felt her way to the fuzzy ball attached to her key ring—there it was. She tugged and yanked, and the key ring came free. One day she was going to have to get better organized—or clean out the bottom of her bag. But not today. The little soft stuffed sunshine with a black smiley face dangling from the key ring grinned up at her as she sorted through the keys.
One day I’ll have enough time to be organized and together. But for now, she was just doing her best.
She unlocked the door and let it click shut behind her. Late, late, late. Swimmers were going to start showing up any minute. She hurried through the echoing building, flicking on lights. Her flip-flops snapped against the concrete floor and her steps reverberated in the high ceiling overhead.
For now, she loved her life. She loved starting her days here, opening up the public pool. The sharp scent of chlorinated water was oddly comforting to her, and the smell relaxed her more than a big cup of steaming chamomile tea at night ever could. The aroma always brought up the best memories of when she’d been training and competing.
And now t
eaching and coaching. There were a lot of bad memories, too, but they were easy to set aside when she was here, the only one in this huge building. The water seemed to be waiting for her, and the morning sun streamed through the upper windows in the cathedral ceiling to sparkle and dance on the pool’s surface.
Stop dallying, Cadence! You’re late, late, late!
She dumped her stuff on the office counter, slipped out of her comfy T-shirt and stowed her things in a private locker in the back.
The quiet slosh of the water against the tile sides and the echo of it in the rafters drew her, as it always did. No matter where life had taken her or the hardships she’d been privileged to face, this place was her home, and she didn’t know what she’d do without her swimming.
Thank You, Father, she prayed as she touched the humble gold cross at her throat, for this passion in my life. Without her swimming and the sanctuary of places like this, where would she be? Living a desperate life like her sister? Abusing drugs and alcohol like her brother?
Her future might not have turned out as rosy as she’d planned, but she was grateful for this morning and for this path she was walking.
The somber black hands on the big clock above the office stretched toward five-thirty. Yikes. She had a few minutes to get the lights on and the ropes up. The regulars would forgive her for being a few minutes late, but she wouldn’t.
Moving fast, she stepped out of her nylon shorts and, without needing to think about it, raised her arms and cut into the cool water. Ah, a piece of heaven on earth, she thought as the wonderful glide of the water slicked her swimsuit to her skin and she sliced to the surface.
Scissor kicking, she let the water sluice down her face as she reached out and grabbed the rope by feel. As she did every morning, she uncoiled it, let the bobbins laze on the water. Swimming all out, she worked fast to uncoil the next rope, took each hook firmly in her hands and leaned back, letting the water carry her.