by Vicki Tharp
I startled awake. Hank’s hand shook my shoulder with the violence a dog shakes a squirrel. I choked on a curse and swallowed down the slimy, bitter bile that rose in my throat like it had on that day and every night the nightmare has haunted me since.
“You okay?”
Kicking my feet free of the tangled web of sheets, I then attempted to stand. To run away. From what I’d witnessed, what I’d been forced to do. My knees betrayed me and crumpled beneath my weight, pitching me back onto the bed.
Holy hell.
The seductive pull of the road called me. No, screamed at me. Demanding my attention. Like soul heroin, an addiction I couldn’t ignore, demanding I hop on my bike, hit the road, and put as much asphalt between me and my situation as possible.
Between my past and me.
Hank laid a steadying hand on my shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. His fingers warm, infusing me with a shallow calm like jumper cables putting a surface charge on a dead battery. It wasn’t all I needed, but it might get me over the hump. My hands shook as I rested my elbows on my knees and laid my face in my hands. I sat like that for a while, his arm across my shoulder.
When my breathing finally slowed, he said, “Wanna talk about it?”
I glanced up. Moonlight touched on his chin and the curve of his cheekbone, but his eyes and expression eluded me. He should have been horrified, but he slid me tightly against his side. I sank into him, grateful for the comfort, and shook my head. No way I wanted to talk about it. No way did I want to pollute his mind, to blacken his soul with even the smallest of those rotten seeds.
In fact, the faster I could shove it back into the little black box in the back of my mind the better.
“I’m okay,” I managed after I’d dislodged the lump in my throat enough to answer without my voice cracking.
“You know,” he whispered, his mouth by my ear as if what he had to say would be our little secret, even though no one else was around to overhear. “Sometimes it’s okay to not be okay.”
I processed what he’d said. What he meant.
My throat closed. Tears painted the back of my eyes. I choked back a sob as he held me even closer. Leave it to Hank to say the absolute one thing, the only thing that had ever made me cry over the incident. That he got that, that somehow he got me, was a never-ending surprise. And yeah, I utterly and completely lost my shit. Huge, bone-shaking, air-gulping sobs. Shirt soaking tears and unladylike snot. He wasn’t wearing a shirt which registered somewhere in the recesses of my mind.
He didn’t say anything. No platitudes. No “it’s going to be all right,” or “you’ll get over in it time.” Because it would never be all right, and I would never get over it. I might learn to deal with it better, or I might not. Again, he seemed to get that. It was a balm to my battered soul not to have to pretend otherwise.
I didn’t deserve him.
Still, I wanted him.
Wasn’t that knowledge like a swift kick in the ass?
I sucked in a deep breath and even through my congestion, it flooded my nose with the sickeningly sweet, putrid odor of my fear-drenched sweat that reminded me of bodies left too long in the sun. I tugged at my dress, the fabric clinging to my damp skin, making me itchy and claustrophobic. It had to come off. Now.
“Close your eyes,” I ordered as I stood and ripped the dress over my head. Then I dropped my soaked panties to my ankles and kicked them across the room.
“Here,” Hank handed me my sleep shirt off my hook. He hadn’t even pretended to keep his eyes closed. Nowhere close to soldier material if he couldn’t follow a simple, direct order. “Unless you want a shower first.”
Without the fabric, my skin was cooling rapidly, goose bumps skittering down my arms and up my spine. As much as I craved a shower, I barely had the energy to stand. Let alone shower. I needed the sleep more. Not that I really expected to sleep.
“You probably need the towel more than I do,” I mumbled, remembering how I’d blubbered on his bare chest.
“Already taken care of.” Amusement threaded through his words and try as I might, I didn’t hear even a smidge of “holy crap, I’ve been slimed!” in his tone. I gave him bonus points for that.
I could hardly see my hand at the end of my arm, so I didn’t worry or care how exposed I was in front of him. In fact, I wondered why I’d told him to close his eyes in the first place. I toweled off and grunted my thanks as he handed me my sleep shirt. I pulled it over my head before I slipped back into bed.
Hank straightened the sheet, laid it over me, and planted a chaste kiss on my forehead. “Good?”
“Sure,” I said, the response automatic. Even before he walked away, I knew my words weren’t true.
It’s okay to not be okay.
His words rang in my head. Then I did something I never expect to do. I reached out. Not just for his hand, but for something else. I wanted that touch. That connection.
For the first time in eons, I didn’t want to be alone.
“Stay with me?”
He hesitated for the span of a heartbeat. Not as if he were deciding if he would or wouldn’t because I knew he would—it was the kind of man he was—but as if he wondered if my request referred to this moment or if I’d meant something more. As if he wanted more.
If he’d asked, I wouldn’t have had an answer for him. It took all I had to take one day at a time. That left little energy to think about a future. Our future or any future. Our lives were so different. He needed to stay for his daughter. I needed to go because…well, because staying wasn’t something I was good at anymore.
Then again, maybe I should take a page from my own book and take this relationship like I was taking the rest of my life, one day at a time. As soon as that thought skittered across my consciousness, a weight lifted that I hadn’t known was dragging me down.
He sat me up, arranged the pillow into the corner between the wall and the bedpost, sat down and scooted himself into the space with his good leg. Then he reached forward and placed me between his outstretched legs, my spine to his chest. He tugged the quilt over the top of us, tucking it under my arms. He strapped one arm across my shoulders, wrapped the other around my belly, and held me to him.
Safe.
The best word, the one word to describe how I felt, not physically, because I’d didn’t need him for protection. I could defend myself. But safe emotionally. Like nothing I could say, nothing I could reveal would repulse him or drive him away.
“It’s funny,” I said with an ironic half chuckle, “when people find out I was deployed, it astounds me the number of them—complete strangers most of the time—who ask me if I’ve ever killed anyone.”
He pressed his lips to the crook of my neck and squeezed me tighter, a hint of beer on his breath, his comfort warm on my skin.
“You can’t ever win answering that question. If you answer yes you’re forever changed in their eyes. Good or bad. Hero or bloodthirsty killer. Only you know you aren’t a hero because you’ve killed someone. Killed another human being. If you answer no, then they either don’t consider your service ‘real’ or worse, think of you as a coward.”
He peppered the column of my neck in a series of slow, sensual kisses, not to distract me so much as to let his presence be known as if he was internalizing my words and branding me with his understanding, his sincerity.
That he had never asked me that question, that no one on the ranch had asked me that question made this place a haven from the outside world. A beacon of light in the blackout thunderstorm of my life.
“It’s hard sometimes, knowing the most horrific thing I’ve ever done, my country gave me a medal for.”
Hank grunted as if my words landed like an uppercut to the jaw. He sniffed once, his swallow tight and audible as he tightened his arms around me to keep me, or maybe us, from flying apart.
I liste
ned to the steady rhythm, the strong thub-dub of his heart tapping against my back. His hold on me eased as he settled his hands across my belly, one of his thumbs absently caressed back and forth over the soft cotton quilt. I needed sleep, but even with Hank there with me, my mind refused to disengage.
“My buddies and I were competing at this local rodeo in Steamboat Springs shortly after we’d all turned pro,” Hank said, breaking the long silence. If his lips were any farther from my ear, I doubt I could’ve made out his words. “It was early in the season; stakes were low and the turnout even lower. The buckle bunnies few and far between…”
In my exhaustion, I lost focus on his words, but what he was saying didn’t matter. The story was nothing more than a distraction, white noise to quiet my mind. My body relaxed in stages until finally my form molded, melted into his.
“That’s my girl,” he said, before continuing with his story. Something about tall blondes, long neck beers, and skinny-dipping in a truck bed swimming pool. A deep chuckled rumbled through his chest. My lips twitched at the Technicolor picture he painted. It was the last thing I remember before oblivion claimed me.
* * * *
The scramble of footsteps on the front porch woke me a beat before the front door burst open. Automatically, I reached down for my rifle, but all I came up with was Hank’s muscular forearm.
Jenna yipped in surprise as I scrambled out of bed, tugging my T-shirt down from around my hips. Hank had nothing to pull down, but thankfully, he, at least, had his boxer-briefs on. Jenna burst out laughing, the pink of embarrassment high on her cheekbones.
“Oh, my God.” She turned around and covered her eyes with her hand though I could still hear the smile in her words. “At least put a sock on the door handle or something. Give me a warning.”
“Ever heard of knocking?” Hank was on his side of the room now, without an ounce of chagrin in his tone. No apology. No explanation. No “it isn’t what your think.”
“Why are you here?”
By the height of the sunlight streaming through the front door, I knew why she was here, and I was positive that breakfast had come and gone and that Lottie would already have the dishes cleaned up and put away by now. Crap. Even though it wasn’t what everyone would be thinking, I didn’t like the fact that everyone would be thinking it. To have my work suffer for it because they thought I was getting it on with Hank, the boss’s former son-in-law, made the feminist in me cringe. Like Hank, I wasn’t about to explain what had happened between us last night. Because not only did nothing happen, it wasn’t anyone’s business but our own.
Besides, I liked the way I felt when I was with him. I liked the person that I was. I liked that he seemed to get me and I liked that it didn’t seem to scare the crap out of him that the skeletons in my closet roared like demons.
And, holy shit, I liked that I could easily fall in love with this man.
Not that anyone in this room needed that kind of a complication. I was here temporarily, I reminded myself, and even though I was finding it exceedingly difficult to keep my hands off the merchandise, I didn’t want to have to buy it if I broke it.
“Grandad wants to see you two. Don’t worry,” she said as she sauntered back out the door, “I covered for you.”
Hank was busy buttoning a tan work shirt. “What do you think she meant by that?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
He walked over to me as he slid his belt through his belt loops, his lips a thin line. His expression somewhere between exasperation and frustration. “Sorry.”
The word stung as if he were saying last night had been a mistake. That the moment we’d shared when I’d been most vulnerable and yet at the same time more connected to anyone in probably ever was somehow wrong slashed a jagged wound on my psyche. Maybe I needed to get out of this place. Nothing good was going to come of this infatuation with Hank, no matter that he made me feel unbroken.
“I wasn’t aware there was anything you needed to apologize for.” I tried to keep the disappointment, the hurt, out of my voice, but by the way his brows furrowed, I don’t think I managed it. I turned to grab a change of clothes.
Time was wasting and I didn’t want to keep my boss waiting. My anger built as the seconds passed. I brushed past him, my shoulder bumping against his solid chest.
If he had grabbed my arm, I would have decked him. Instead, as I reached the bathroom door to change, he said, “Whoa, now.”
Whoa now? Whoa now? Was I a fractious filly he needed to soothe? I spun on my heels and pinned him with a glare. “What the fuck, Hank?”
He raised his hands in surrender, closed his eyes, and exhaled painfully, excruciatingly, counting-backwards-from-one-hundred kind of slow. Shit. He didn’t deserve that. Not his fault I’m a walking, talking, emotional clusterfuck. I closed my eyes to mentally regroup, and the next thing I knew his arms wrapped around me and pulled me to him. I didn’t fight it. I sagged against him. God. How can a simple embrace by this man quiet the riot in my brain?
He kissed the top of my head. “Take a breath.”
I stole several.
“I want to make something abundantly clear,” he started.
I nodded my head against his chest. The earthy scent of arena dirt light on his skin from the night before. The dried layer of cold sweat on my own skin was tangy in my nostrils. As late as we were, I needed a shower. I didn’t need the malodorous tang of fear on me as I worked all day.
“The only thing I am sorry about is Jenna seeing us. Not because there is anything for us to hide or be ashamed of but because that time, those moments were for us and us alone.”
“Nothing happened.”
He inched back and lifted my chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Not physically. Yet,” he was quick to add. “Soon. And just because we didn’t have sex, doesn’t mean nothing happened.”
I was no saint. The desire shining in his eyes made my blood sing as if I was in a chorus line. If there were no consequences in life, I’d drag him straight back to my bed and show him exactly how he made me feel. That was a monstrous “if.” One too enormous to wrap my head around or throw caution to the wind. But, God, I wanted this man, not just the sex, but lock, stock, horse, and barrel. That it was beyond probable that it could never be anything more than sex brought an instant lump to my throat. “I don’t want to screw this up.”
“Not gonna happen.”
Though his expression was sincere, we both knew that was a promise he couldn’t make. “You and Jenna are starting to reconnect. I don’t want—”
“Your concern is noted and appreciated. Truly. But that is not your worry to shoulder.” He pulled me tighter against him and the weight of that worry lifted. He buried his nose in the crook of my neck and inhaled deeply. I cringed inwardly, knowing how badly I stank.
The sting of his teeth, then the warm caress of his tongue over the bite sent a tug to my girly bits. He needed to stop that before I nailed the front door of the cabin permanently shut, made him my prisoner, and had my wanton way with him.
“I can’t get enough of the way you smell, the way you taste,” he said.
A snort of laughter tickled my nose, and I pulled out of his arms. “That’s the hormones talking, Cowboy.”
“Maybe so,” he agreed a little faster than I liked. He stepped back to the breakfast table, grabbed his hat, and settled it firmly on his head. “You can shower all you want, scrub the top layer of your skin off if you like, but try as you might, there’s no washing the warrior, the fighter off you. It’s not on the surface, Army. It’s a part of you through and through. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”
Army. The word rolled off his tongue like an endearment, like other men would say princess or sweetheart. That he understood those other endearments didn’t fit me, spoke volumes to how much he got me. He didn’t grant me th
e opportunity to deny his words or to respond to them. He left me in the shaft of sunlight spilling through the open door to bathe in the warmth of the rays and the power of his words.
Dink barked an excited greeting in the distance as Hank made his way to the main house. I shook off the moment. I really needed to get to work, but that didn’t stop me from mulling over Hank’s words as I closed the door and stripped on the way to the shower. He’d used the word love in the same sentence as my name. As a qualifier to a list of my qualities.
It made my heart pound in my chest with equal parts wonder and dread.
I turned the shower on, not bothering to wait for the water to warm before stepping in. I needed the shock of the cold water to knock sense into me. It wasn’t as if he’d said he loved me. It was more like the way I loved the way my buddy Boomer could nail a target with his fifty-cal on the back of a moving Humvee with surgical precision or the way Numbers in supply had a way of getting even the most obscure luxury item, for a price. That didn’t mean I loved them. I’m sure it wasn’t any different with Hank.
* * * *
It must have not been as late as I’d feared because, by the time I made it down to the big house as instructed by Jenna, everyone was still at the table finishing their last bites and filling their coffee mugs with one last cup before they went off to work. Then again, since the barn had burned down, it was as if we’d all had the wind knocked out of us and we were slow to get moving again, slow to wake up and focus on the job at hand. Currently, the biggest priority was fixing all the fencing on the pastures by the barn as well as removing the burned carcass of the barn so rebuilding could start as soon as possible.
As a group, we were still finding our equilibrium, but I knew this stubborn group of people didn’t know the meaning of the word quit. Even Quinn, with all his irreverence with Hank and joking around, had taken the attack on the ranch as hard as anybody had. If we were knocked down again, we would get back up again. If we were hit hard, we would hit harder right back.