Thunder Running

by Rebecca Crowley

  Just go, she wanted to scream. We both know you can do so much better, now pack your bag and leave before this mistake gets any worse.

  He must’ve stayed there, staring at her, for most of an hour. Her fingers went numb and her arms cramped, but she didn’t dare move a muscle. She was poised, waiting, willing the moment to arrive—the moment he made the decision so she didn’t have to. The moment he left her, so she never had to ask him to stay.

  Finally he moved, easing out of the bed and slinking around the room. She heard the whisper of clothes shoved into a bag, the clink of his belt buckle, the creak as he opened the closet where he’d stowed his shoes. Then he was leaning over her, warm, still.

  “I can’t do this to you,” he whispered. The contents of his bag rustled as he hiked it on his shoulder.

  Do what? She fought the urge to frown. He bent down, smoothed the hair from her forehead and pressed a kiss on her temple.

  “I know you’ll find the man you deserve. I’m just sorry it ain’t me, sugar.”

  She tensed beneath the duvet, her mind working furiously as the sound of his footsteps diminished in his move toward the door. Did he mean he thought he wasn’t good enough for her? But that was all wrong—it was the other way around. She was the one who should apologize, who should release him from this stupid, day-old marriage. Couldn’t he see how amazing he was? That he was strong and smart and so special? She had the bad temper, the irrational outbursts, the complete inability to be lovable to anyone, including herself?

  Unless he thought—unless he saw something that—

  She bolted upright in bed, blinking in the darkness as she whispered his name with pleading, desperate urgency.

  But the door was shut and the room was empty. He was gone.

  As usual Tara heard Chance’s car long before she saw it, and she hoisted one of the heaviest boxes up on her hip in the hope she could pass it off to him in the doorway.

  Even with the awkward weight digging into her hip, her smile came easily. After all, she’d been wearing it practically all day.

  She’d thought long and hard about answering when her dad’s number had appeared on her cell phone display. For days she’d been listless, uncertain, caught between aching desire to memorize every second with Chance and the nagging impulse to run as far and fast as she could before her heart broke in two. As much as she was convinced he was the only man for her, her self-doubt expanded by the hour. Was she really enough for him? Could she be the anchor he’d need while he was away? Would she find the maturity and emotional stability not to wallow in loneliness, not to take it out on him, not to blame him for her own inability to cope?

  The answer to all of the above was leaning toward no when her phone had vibrated on the countertop. She sighed in exasperation, and then for no good reason at all she draped the dishcloth over the oven handle and picked it up.

  “He left you yet?”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  She waited for his wheezing, smoker’s cough to subside before she answered. “No, he ain’t left me. And he won’t, either.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just do.”

  “Uh-huh.” He paused for what she assumed was a gulp of beer. “Guess it’ll be you does the leaving this time, then.”

  “I would never,” she replied hotly, her voice threatening to break on the last syllable as tears suddenly stung her eyes. And in that moment, as she recalled that desolate final night in the hotel room, the cheap polyester duvet scratching the underside of her arm, the occasional groan as the heating unit switched on and off, the ominous zip of Chance closing his bag as he prepared to leave her, she knew it was true—she would stay by his side, no matter what. She’d be steadfast where her father wasn’t, honest like she was when Chance first loped up to her bar, brave like she should’ve been the night he walked out.

  He’d whispered that night that she deserved better, and she let him disappear because she was too cowardly to tell him he was more than she could’ve ever hoped for.

  “Balls to that,” she muttered, and her father’s hoarse laugh reminded her he was still on the other end of the line.

  “Here I thought you were so prim and proper you didn’t drink before noon anymore.”

  “I’m not like you, Dad,” she shot back, meaning it in so many more ways than she knew he’d understand. “And so help me, I never will be. I’m sticking this thing out if it kills me. He’s worth it. He deserves this. He deserves me.”

  “Well, you must have a pretty low opinion of him if—”

  She ended the call and tossed the phone into the bottom of her purse, ignoring the muted vibration that told her he was probably trying to call back. Then she slung the bag over her shoulder, stuffed her feet into a totally unseasonable pair of flip-flops and strode out to the Malibu.

  The phone was still buzzing when she tossed her purse into the passenger seat.

  “Can’t talk now, Daddy,” she’d informed it, putting the car into gear. “I’ve got a meeting to get to.”

  And she couldn’t wait to tell Chance all about how it had gone. She hoisted the box higher on her hip and edged around the front door, beaming as the headlights flicked off on the Challenger. Except she’d barely stepped over the threshold when he shot out of his car and bolted toward her wearing an expression of such dire alarm that her stomach seemed to drop down into her toes.

  Had his orders changed? Was he leaving for Afghanistan in the morning? Had he shot someone by accident during a training exercise? Were the police after him? Oh God, he’d failed to pull over and now the whole county sheriff’s department was coming for him, they had to get out of here, had to get over the state line…

  “It’s okay, I can leave now,” she called nonsensically. “I’ll grab a couple of things and we’ll—”

  “No, no, don’t do this,” he begged, wrenching the box from her grip and dropping it on the ground, then taking her hands in his. “I know six months seems like a long time, but I’ll make it up to you when I get back, I promise. And I promise I’ll be back. Did I tell you my nickname in my old platoon was Un-killable McKinley? Seriously, I always keep my head screwed on in combat, in fact it’s probably the only time anything I do makes any sense, but I can change that, I can do better if you just tell me what better looks like, I meant it when I said I’d keep you safe, and I swear—”

  “Whoa, slow down. What’s wrong? What don’t you want me to do?”

  “Don’t leave.” He squeezed her hands, his voice hushed and urgent. “Stay with me. Please.”

  She gaped at him, at a loss for anything other than a characteristically flippant reply but gathering from the desperation in his eyes that was the opposite of what he needed. That wasn’t who she would be anymore—she could be real with him. She could show him how she really felt. She worked hard to keep her tone even and calm, without a hint of the mocking she knew tended to slip in without her even trying.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Chance. What gave you that idea?”

  “You’re all packed, loading up your car. I know you weren’t counting on us only having a month to get to know each other before—”

  The pieces came together with an abrupt click. “I’m not leaving. This is for the food bank.”

  “Food bank?” he echoed. She tugged him through the front door and watched his eyes widen as he took in the array of groceries and cardboard boxes in varying degrees of fullness spread across the floor.

  “I went to that enlisted spouses’ group meeting this afternoon. Turns out today was the end of their food drive, so they all turned up with a pantry-load of groceries. I felt bad for not bringing anything, so I volunteered to sort it all and drive it down to the food bank tomorrow morning. I knew the second their eyes lit up it was a dumb offer, but it was too late.” She sighed. “It’s a lot of
work, but maybe it’ll endear me to ’em.”

  He stared at the clutter like he couldn’t quite reconcile its presence in his house. “Why do you want to endear yourself to them?”

  “You know how it is, they’ve all been married ten years, have kids, go to church, know this army life inside out. It’s bad enough I’ve turned up out of the blue so soon before you deploy. If they ever found out—”

  “But why?” He turned the full force of his gaze on her, and her heart thrilled at his attention. “Who cares what they think of you? This town ain’t that small you have to try to fit in where you don’t.”

  She fidgeted under his scrutiny, fighting opposing compulsions to tell him everything and bare her ugly core or retreat to safe old habits, to lock up tight with a coy smile and rolled eyes. Then she remembered the worry in his face when he thought she was leaving, the pressure of his hands as he asked her to stay, and for the first time she processed the full meaning of his misapprehending plea.

  Time to put all her cards on the table.

  “I don’t know how to be a wife,” she confessed, flinging up her palms. “I don’t even know how to be a girlfriend. All I know how to do is cuss and drink and run men off. Now I found one I want to hang on to, I don’t even know where to start. But I’m going to do my level best. I’m going to be the wife you deserve.”

  “You don’t need a bunch of middle-aged do-gooders to teach you how to do that, Tara. You’ve always been the woman I deserve, not to mention the one I want. My wife. And I never imagined I’d find someone so perfectly suited to the position.”

  She smiled weakly, not quite daring to believe her ears. “You mean you never imagined you’d find someone willing to put up with your bony ass.”

  “Who’re you calling bony, short stuff?” Before she could respond he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her up over his shoulder, one arm clamped across the backs of her thighs while the other was propped arrogantly on his hip. Slowly, steadily, he began to spin in a circle.

  “Put me down, crazy man,” Tara squealed delightedly, grabbing at the waist of his ACU trousers to steady herself as he turned faster.

  “Don’t think I will.”

  “You’re going to drop me or I’m going to throw up. Neither option sounds like much fun.”

  “Let’s see which happens first.”

  His boots squeaked against the floorboards and she closed her eyes against her upside-down spinning dizziness, laughing and shrieking as she spun through the air. She felt a little bit sick, a little bit scared, but so sure that Chance wouldn’t let her go that she almost wanted him to go faster, to never stop, to let her always fly like this, defying physics and gravity and every stupid convention humans came up with to hamstring themselves into respectability, all the while knowing he was there with her, holding her, refusing to let her fall.

  She heard the clank of aluminum and his muttered curse, opening her eyes just in time to see the world tilt and jolt as he stumbled. He twisted as they went down, and she landed hard against his chest as the sound of bone thunked hard against the floor as he rolled onto his side.

  He sucked in a harsh breath, baring his teeth. “Holy mother of—”

  “Please tell me that was your arm, not your skull.” She moved to scramble off him but his hand closed on her thigh, holding her in place.

  “My elbow. It’s fine, but damn, that hurts.”

  “Serves you right for trying to toss me like a javelin.”

  “Javelins are the spear things. You’re thinking of a discus.”

  She leaned over him, pushing him flat on his back and pinning his wrists to the floor. “I’m thinking of the fool who tried to hurl me across the room. Try that again and I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” His grin was wolfish.

  Suddenly she registered their proximity, her knees straddling either side of his torso, the inch and a half between his mouth and the tips of her breasts. She jerked backward, freeing his arms as she moved to stand up. “You didn’t even shut the front door.”

  “Tara.” He gripped her thighs, but his firm tone stilled her more effectively than any touch. “We’ve got to start talking to each other, sugar. From now on we just say what we’re thinking, good, bad or half-cocked crazy. No more secrets. No more misunderstandings.”

  She shifted uneasily. “Some of those women today said you shouldn’t stress your soldier out when he’s overseas. Like, don’t bother him with little household problems since he’s got enough to deal with.”

  He pulled himself up to a sitting position so she was astride his lap, his palms steadying her hips. “Don’t listen to them. I want you to tell me everything, you hear? If you watched a stupid movie on TV, if the mail was full of bills, if someone cuts you off in traffic I want to hear it. I don’t want to miss out on the next six months with you. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t,” she whispered, pressing her thumb against his lips. “I promise.”

  He watched her for another second, green eyes big and unreadable, and then he kissed her. Her hands slid to the back of his neck as his mouth found hers, the press of his lips so familiar yet so exhilarating, like slipping into a favorite dress to find it fits even better than last time. Like joining him under the sheets these last few nights, not knowing where the nighttime hours would take them, slightly apprehensive about the journey but completely unworried about the destination.

  The instant bulge in his trousers bore testament to the level of their restraint thus far. A few hushed words, several deep kisses, one daring hand underneath her shirt, a thumb circling her nipple before retreating.

  She was done with that tentative exploration now, bored of all these polite barriers they’d yanked up between them. He said he didn’t want to lose her, but he hadn’t really had her yet.

  She drew back in his embrace. “If I don’t shut that door now, it’s going to be too cold for me to take off all my clothes.”

  His face lit up as he practically shoved her off his lap. “Go.”

  By the time she made the four steps to the door, shut it and turned around, Chance had disposed of his ACU jacket and was tugging the tight, tan T-shirt he wore beneath out of the waistband of his trousers.

  “Hold on, give me a minute to admire.” She crossed to him and ran her hands up his chest, savoring the hints of hard muscle beneath the soft cotton. “I love a man in uniform.”

  “Does that mean you love me?” The playful question was only half-joking.

  Of course I do. But she couldn’t bring herself to give voice to that sentiment, not yet, not now. It stuck in her throat and she busied herself with the fly on his camouflage trousers, reaching inside to grip his erection through his boxers and hoping to distract him from her non-response.

  It worked. He groaned and yanked her against him, dragging them both down to the floor until he had her pinned on her back.

  She beamed up at him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. “If you insist on being on top you need to give me something to look at.”

  He pulled his T-shirt over his head with an obliging grin, and Tara’s own smile vanished from her face. From his lean muscles to his narrow hips and the black-ink tattoo on his left arm, he couldn’t be more exactly her type if she’d designed him herself.

  “Your turn.” He took hold of either side of her button-up shirt and wrenched it open, sending buttons flying and clattering onto the floor around them.

  “Damn, boy,” she laughed. “It’s going to take me forever to sew those all back on.”

  “Good, something to keep you occupied while I’m gone.”

  His hands moved to her bra and she swatted him away, reaching behind her back to unclasp it. “Uh-uh. Do you have any idea how much it costs to keep these things in place?”

  As soon as she’d freed the breasts she rued for being so disproportionately large she had to
buy shirts a size too big she reached to unzip her jeans, but Chance moved her hands out of the way and pressed her wrists against the floor.

  “I haven’t seen these gorgeous girls in nearly a year. Give us a second to reacquaint.”

  He leaned over her, lowering his mouth to her breast and taking her nipple between his lips. She moaned as his tongue moved in a tight, quickening circle that intensified into a merciless suck. By the time he’d finished applying the same process to the other breast, she was writhing in his grip.

  “Please tell me you have condoms somewhere in this house,” she managed hoarsely when he sat back.

  “Upstairs. If you’re not naked by the time I get back down here I’ll rip those jeans apart with my teeth.”

  “Sweet talker,” she cooed as he clambered off her and bolted up the stairs.

  She listened to his heavy footfalls move across the ceiling as he traversed the second floor, and obediently she shucked off her jeans and underwear. She pushed a couple of cardboard boxes out of the way to make room, slid some canned goods across the floor with her foot, then grabbed the red fleece blanket from the couch and spread it on the hardwood. Then she stood and waited.

  It was only a minute before he came thundering back down the stairs. “This probably isn’t the right time to mention this but in the interest of full disclosure, the reason it took me so long to find these is I haven’t—” He froze at the last step. “Holy shit, you’re hot.”

  She put her hands on her hips, relishing his gaze. “You haven’t what?”

  He swallowed hard, making slow progress toward her. “Slept with anyone. Since you.”

  “I’m sure those six months in the mountains helped your impulse control. I can’t say I was worried about a string of hot Afghan women plying you with…”

  The words dissolved in her throat as he stopped in front of her, trailing his fingertips down her sides. His expression was intent, his eyes dark with sincerity.

  “You know why. No one compares to you, Tara.”