The Way Home oj-2

by Cindy Gerard

  The problem was, they seemed to be going backward in that area. She’d let him into her bed, yes, let him into her home, but she’d made it clear—more in deed than in words—that she was determined not to let him into her heart.

  In bed, she was adventurous, exciting, and surprisingly trusting. Out of bed was a different story. Instead of opening up to him, she’d started holding back. It was almost as if she’d realized she was letting herself get involved with him and put on the skids.

  OK. Fine. If she needed more time, he had time to give. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not even after he’d accidentally discovered what must have been her husband’s truck lovingly covered and stored in the large shed behind the store. He’d looked beneath the tarp. It was a newer-model Chevy, all tricked out, not even two thousand miles on the odometer. Yet she drove a ten-year-old Taurus with more than a hundred thousand miles on it.

  Letting go was not something she did easily. Loyalty was not something she took lightly.

  “Tell me about these,” she said softly, as her fingers gently massaged the surgical scar tissue on his lower spine. “And this.” She touched his bicep and the scar there.

  He’d felt the softness of her fingertips on his scars often during the night. Had known these questions wouldn’t hold much longer. Actually, he’d been surprised she hadn’t asked before now. A month ago, the day they’d gone kayaking, she’d asked, but he’d avoided answering. He hadn’t wanted to rehash the injuries. But now she’d asked again. He didn’t miss the significance. If she really wanted to erect barriers to avoid emotional intimacy, she wouldn’t have brought it up again. Which meant he needed to bite the bullet and spill it if there was any hope she’d eventually do the same.

  It wouldn’t be easy. Recounting the way a man earned a Purple Heart and a Silver Star never was.

  “The short of it is, I was flying away from a combat zone with casualties onboard. We were clear, so our air cover had left. Then we weren’t clear anymore.”

  Her hands stilled. “You got shot down?”

  “Job hazard. An RPG blew the chopper’s tail rotor off. Not the preferred method of meeting the ground from too damn many feet above it.”

  “You crash-landed?” She sounded horrified.

  “Pretty much, yeah.” With a little maneuvering on both of their parts, he managed to turn onto his back so he could see her face. Her beautiful, troubled face.

  He stroked her arms and met her eyes in the dim bedroom light. “Hey. Don’t look like that. I’m here. I’m OK.”

  Her hands rested on his chest. “You were hurt.”

  “Me and a lot of others. Some more than hurt.”

  He’d lost his copilot and his gunner. Wives had lost husbands. Children had lost fathers. She didn’t need to hear that. She’d already lived that.

  “Anyway, we had a bit of a hard landing, and the welcome wagon didn’t exactly greet us.”

  “And your air support was gone. You had no weapons.”

  “We had rifles. And handguns.” Rocks. Pieces of the bird. They’d used everything they could gather to defend their position.

  “The scar on your arm. It’s a gunshot wound, isn’t it?”

  He felt torn between loving that she felt such empathy for him and concern that she gave too much importance to something that had happened a long time ago. But when a woman had lost a husband to war, there were questions that would always remain unanswered.

  “You go to war. You get shot at,” he said, shrugging it off.

  Only none of it was as casual as he wanted to sound. He’d survived the crash, but it hadn’t ended there. They’d been sitting ducks. The only reason he was alive today was that the radio hadn’t gone the way of the tail rotor. He’d been slammed through the windshield on impact and thrown out of the chopper. Walking hadn’t been an option—exquisite pain from several herniated discs and a couple of cracked vertebrae made it impossible. So he’d dragged himself back into the cockpit and called in air support. Directed them “danger close”—within two hundred meters with smart weapons and three hundred meters with unguided weapons.

  For a while there, he’d been more afraid of friendly fire taking them out than of Saddam’s Royal Guard—although one of the bastards had nailed his arm.

  “End result, I herniated a few discs. No biggie. Surgery fixed them, and now I’m good as new.”

  More like good as it was going to get, even after two surgeries and months of grueling physical therapy, but she didn’t need to know that, either.

  “No biggie? You could have been paralyzed. You could have died.”

  “But I didn’t.” He touched a palm to her cheek. “I didn’t die, Jess.”

  “No. But your naval career did. The injuries are the reason your career was cut short, aren’t they?”

  He breathed deep. He didn’t like thinking about this. “A grounded pilot isn’t much good to the military, and the Navy docs wouldn’t clear me to fly.” Another crash or even a hard landing might cause permanent paralysis. His CO had put the paperwork for a medical discharge in the works before he’d even gotten out of the hospital.

  Flying for the military and flying for himself, however, were two entirely different things. He’d had no difficulty passing the physical to get his civilian flight license.

  “I’m sorry.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the center of his chest.

  “For everything there is a season… For every rhyme there is a reason.”

  She smiled against his skin. “Making up your own verses, I see.”

  Her smile was his cue. Time to lighten things up. For both of them.

  “I like making things up as I go. For instance, how about we get rid of this?” He tugged the straps of her gown down her arms. The soft fabric caught on her nipples before spilling around her hips. She was so stunningly beautiful. “Let’s see what else we can make up as we go along.”

  Chapter 15

  “WHAT WOULD YOU THINK ABOUT moving the display holding your souvenir items against the wall, then sliding the cubbies full of T-shirts and sweatshirts into a central aisle in their place?”

  Ty had been after Jess all morning to take a break from her book work and walk this idea through with him.

  “The truth is, I’ve been wanting to do that, but—”

  “You never had the time.” He finished the well-used phrase for her.

  “Don’t look so smug.”

  “Permission to proceed?”

  “If you’re looking for an ‘Aye-aye, sailor,’ you’re not going to get it from me.”

  He laughed. “And if you don’t want me to do it, speak now, or forever hold your peace. Some of this stuff is so small it’s easy to slip into a pocket, and these shelves are out of view of your mirrors.”

  He’d given her more than a hard time over her less than state-of-the-art surveillance system this past week. Jess knew it was lacking, but then, this wasn’t exactly the city, where shoplifting was a major problem. This was the north woods. People came here with relaxation, not petty larceny, on their minds.

  “You’re going to do what you want to do anyway, so what difference does it make if I say no?”

  “Hey.” He gripped her arm and gently turned her to face him. “This is your business. You make the calls. Period. I’m not trying to intrude, you know that. Right? I’m not trying to run your show, Jess. You say the word, and I leave things as is. I’ll find something that needs to be fixed. Lord knows, that’s a never-ending list.”

  Because he looked and sounded so concerned that she would think he was interfering, she smiled at him. “As if I’d ever let you get by with messing in my business. Knock yourself out. If you need an extra hand, give me a yell.”

  “I need an extra hand,” he said, all low and sexy. Then he guided said hand to his heart. “Here.” Then to his lips. “Here. Wanna know where else?”

  She was laughing at the suggestive gleam in his eyes when the bell above the door rang—and then she wasn’t laughing anym
ore.

  Brad. J.R.’s brother had made himself scarce ever since Ty had returned. Jess had been intending to call him or even go see him. Give him a heads-up about Ty so he wouldn’t be blindsided. But she’d known it would be ugly, so she’d put it off. The anger in Brad’s eyes was the main reason.

  She’d been dreading this—and she’d known he’d show up, because the grapevine had to be working overtime with news of the stranger staying with J.R.’s wife in the apartment above the store.

  She had hoped that when this time came, Ty would be off on an errand. She had desperately hoped that when Brad did show up, he wouldn’t see them in a compromising position.

  So far, she was batting zero for two.

  She slowly pulled her hand away from Ty’s and walked across the store to meet her brother-in-law.

  “You’ve been a stranger,” she said, hoping to avoid a confrontation between the two men by heading Brad off at the proverbial pass. “Everything OK with you?”

  Brad had not looked at her since he’d walked through the door. His angry gaze had fixed on Ty like a laser-guided missile with one intent: destroy the man in its path.

  Judging from the silence in Ty’s general direction, he was very much aware that something significant was about to happen.

  “Let me get you a cup of coffee.” She stepped in front of Brad, determined to distract him from something that could come to no good.

  “I don’t want your coffee. I don’t want anything from you.”

  Brad shouldered around her and walked directly toward Ty.

  “Brad—”

  “It’s OK, Jess.” Ty held out a hand. “You must be J.R.’s brother.”

  Brad stopped, shoulders square, feet spread wide, directly in front of Ty. He ignored Ty’s extended hand. “And you must be the lowlife shacking up with my brother’s wife.”

  “Brad!” Jess rushed to step between them. “If you came here looking for a fight, turn around and go right back out the door.”

  “It’s OK, Jess,” Ty said again softly. “I’ve got this. Go finish what you were doing.”

  “Yeah, Jess,” Brad said bitterly. “Do what the man says. The way I hear it, he’s pretty much running the show around here. Taking care of this. Taking care of that. Taking care of you.”

  “That’s enough.” Ty got right in Brad’s face. “You got a bone to pick with me? Fine. But you’re not going to disrespect Jess.”

  “I don’t have to. She took care of that when she opened her door and her legs to you.”

  Jess gasped at the insult and anger in Brad’s voice. And she could see in Ty’s eyes that he was mad as hell at Brad’s goading.

  “This is how your brother would want you to treat her?” Ty challenged with a calm that stunned her. Before Brad could counter, Ty leveled another verbal blow. “I didn’t know your brother. But I was deployed to Iraq the same time he was. I knew of him. Knew of his unit. Knew what a stand-up group of soldiers they were. Hell, they were legends. Every last one of them.

  “So let’s get something clear. Your brother and I fought the same fight. I’m not here to disrespect him. I would never do that. And he would never disrespect Jess. Neither will you. Now, if you can’t man up and apologize to her, then walk out the door, and don’t come back until you figure out how to do the right thing.”

  For several long moments, the men faced off. Hands clenched in fists. Legs spring-loaded and ready to pounce.

  Jess watched with her heart in her throat.

  Finally, Brad turned away. His face burned red with anger as he shouldered past her and stomped out the door.

  She hadn’t even realized her heartbeat had accelerated until the speed of it made her lightheaded.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, horrified and mortified by Brad’s behavior. “I should have talked to him a week ago. Explained.”

  “You’ve got nothing to explain. It’s your life, Jess. And you’ve got nothing to be sorry for. He, however, does. And he knows it. That’s why he’s so pissed.”

  “That could have gotten so much uglier.”

  He shook his head. “No. That wasn’t going to happen. We’d have taken it outside long before it ever came to blows.”

  She hugged her arms around herself and shivered. “He loved his brother.”

  “And seeing you move on with your life… it’s a grim reminder that J.R. is gone and he’s not coming back. I’m sorry, Jess,” he added softly. “I’m sorry he’s gone. But I’m so glad that I’m here.”

  THAT NIGHT, AFTER they’d made love, Jess sat in a chair in the corner of her bedroom, her knees tucked under her chin, and watched Ty sleep.

  The worst possible thing had happened. What they had… it had become so much more than a fling. But then, she suspected she’d been fooling herself on that count from the beginning. Fooling herself into believing that she wasn’t going to fall in love with him.

  But how could she not? How could she not love a man who shared her grief over losing her husband, who empathized and understood his brother’s anger, and who defended her honor without humiliating her attacker?

  How could she not love a man who made her laugh and shingled her roof and made love to her as though she was the end and the beginning of everything he wanted in his life?

  She could no longer cling to her argument that he was just like J.R. That had been a weak prop from the get-go. J.R. had eaten, breathed, and drunk Army from the moment he’d put on the uniform. If he’d lived, he’d have been career. And he’d have been putting himself in harm’s way for as long as his CO would let him. Ty, while every bit as heroic, had clearly left that part of his life behind. She wasn’t going to lose him to combat—although the memory of the night she’d first met him, with his warrior face on, ready to lay it all on the line, was not something she’d soon forget.

  So here she was. Falling in love. Trying not to regret it. Wondering where it would lead. Stunned to find herself in this position.

  Quietly, so she wouldn’t wake him, she eased off the chair and back into bed. He stirred and turned and pulled her snugly against him, whispering her name in his sleep.

  He’d lost as much as she had. Yet he had so much to give. So much life. So much joy. And although he hadn’t said the word, it was clear that if she gave him the right signal, he’d give her all the love she could possibly need.

  A WEEK LATER, Jess watched Ty drive off to the airport to return to Florida long enough to take care of some pressing business. She missed him already.

  “You know, that’s what I got you for, Bear.” She dropped down onto one knee and cuddled the dog close as Ty’s truck faded from sight. “To keep me company and make me laugh and keep my bed warm in the middle of winter. Look how well that worked out.”

  But as she’d often realized during the past two months, a puppy wasn’t a man. And there weren’t many men like Tyler Brown.

  Later that night, she slowly removed her wedding ring and tucked it inside her jewelry box.

  Chapter 16

  Afghanistan, September

  THE COOKING ROOM STAYED RELATIVELY cool, the thick exterior walls blunting the effect of the afternoon sun. Rabia stood back in the shadows near the window, watching the walled courtyard and worrying that the askar pushed himself beyond what was wise.

  He was still so thin and not yet well, but there was no getting him to stop the grueling exercises he called a workout. Such a stubborn man. A determined man. A man she could not help but admire for the stoic way he endured his injuries and the way he had willed himself off the poppy. She did not know many men who, once mired in the drug, had the strength to fight their way free. And she knew of no man who had suffered as he had during withdrawal and not begged for the relief a dose would bring.

  He was also a kind man. Like her husband had been kind. But something had changed inside him the night on the roof when they had talked of his leg.

  “I suspect your leg was once broken and did not heal well,” she said as he leaned on he
r for support.

  “Bastards wouldn’t set it. They dumped me in that hole and…”

  He had not said anything more. But she knew he had remembered something. When she had asked, he had insisted it was nothing. That the thought had made no sense.

  He had not been truthful. Whatever memory had come to him had caused him much anguish, and he did not wish to share.

  For many days after that, he had been sullen and silent. Now he was restless and driven to fight his way home.

  She did not know how this would be possible, no matter how much of his strength he regained. The village was cut off from Internet and telephone lines, so they all relied on foot messengers passing from village to village. The latest report had arrived yesterday. Taliban patrols had doubled in the two months since the askar had escaped.

  Find his way home? How? How did he plan to do that? She had no idea if there were any American forces left in the country. Before she had left Kabul, she had heard of the American draw-down and knew it was about to take place. The Americans had decided the ground had been washed with enough American blood.

  She watched her askar as he sweated and strained. This ground had been washed with his blood. She did not want any more of it spilled.

  “What American forces?” she had demanded when he had said he would find a way to reconnect with them. “There was once an American military post at the halfway point between here and Kabul. Even if it is still there, you could not get to it. Messengers report that all roads in the province have Taliban checkpoints stationed every half-mile or so or over the next hill or bend in the road.”

  She had told him all of this, and still he was determined to find a way.

  The thought frightened her. Only because she had much time and care invested in him, she told herself. And because if he were captured, he would be tortured, and if he broke, the Taliban would then come after her and her father.