Every scrap of paper that had ever had his name printed on it was tucked away in this book, Chase realized. Baseball stats, the church bulletin announcing his baptism, his graduation program. They were all there. And pictures. Candids and professional shots, school photos, his first military photo. Little bits of his whole life had been documented there. He turned to the last page and found a wrinkled scrap of newspaper along with a tiny card that said In Memoriam. It was the kind they gave you at the funeral home with the loved one’s name printed on one side and the Lord’s Prayer on the other.
It was his mother’s.
He’d gone.
His throat tightened painfully and the anguish he’d been denying for the past several days suddenly reared up and delivered a heavy blow. Instinctively, he turned to Rorie. He made quick work of her clothes, taking them off or just moving them out of his way. He tasted her nipple and heard her sigh, felt the breath leak out of her lungs. He was desperate to feel her skin against his, her small hands sliding over his body. He needed the oblivion he’d find between her thighs, the grace in her touch.
God help him, he just needed her.
A truth he didn’t want to examine—like so many others he’d discovered since coming home—lurked in that thought, but he tucked it away and pushed into her.
She drew her legs back, welcoming him in, and immediately the ache in his chest subsided and he could breathe again. The idea of leaving her sent a dart of panic directly into his heart and he channeled the energy of that alarm into another part of his body, pounding into her, branding her, making her his.
Her sweet heat tightened around him and her hands slid possessively over his ass, urging him on. Her pebbled breasts raked against his chest, the soft globes absorbing the force of his thrusts.
Rorie rolled him onto his back, then straddled him. “Let me,” she said, sinking onto him, taking the whole of him into her perfect little body. Creamy shoulders, dusky-tipped breasts, a smooth concave belly, the generous flare of her curvy hips, soft dewy curls between her thighs. Her bright eyes were sleepy-looking with desire, her cheeks flushed and the smile that drifted over her plump, carnal mouth… The corner of that grin simply hooked him, Chase realized.
She smiled…and he knew in that instant she was the girl for him.
The orgasm rocketed through him, taking him completely by surprise. He felt his lips peel back from his teeth and he bucked harder beneath her, then bent forward and flattened the crown of her breast against the roof of his mouth. He found the sweet spot at the top of her sex and stroked—once, twice, three times—and she came for him. Purred, shattered, screamed. It was wild and desperate and the sound of satisfaction that tore from her throat as her feminine muscles clamped around him was one he’d never forget.
Breathing heavily, she collapsed against his chest. He stroked the fluted edge of her spine, more content and more complete than he’d ever felt in his life.
“I’m, uh…I’m not real good at expressing my feelings,” Chase told her. “But I like you a whole lot.”
She drew back and smiled down at him, blue eyes twinkling and sated. “I like you a whole lot, too,” she said.
And just like that, he was hers.
8
“I’M NOT going to wake you up in the morning,” Chase told her. They were currently curled up in her bed, naked and tangled around one another.
Rorie swallowed hard. This was always the outcome. She’d known this. “What time do you have to leave?”
“Four.”
She glanced at the bedside clock and chuckled weakly. “You mean in three hours, then?”
He winced. “Damn. Yeah, I guess I do.”
She knew he was relatively packed. They’d finished cleaning out his father’s room and, under the guise of needing to feed the cat, she’d come home to give him a bit of privacy. The desperation in his touch after he’d discovered the scrapbook had absolutely broken her heart and had obviously turned his entire perception of his father on its head. Which was good, Rorie thought.
Chase had needed to know that his father had cared about him, had wanted him back and, while she wished they could have sorted this out before Holland died, at least Chase knew now that his father had loved him, that he had been proud of him.
“Are you sure you don’t want the house, Chase?” she asked again, fully prepared to give it up.
“I don’t, Rorie. Dad left it to you and I want you to have it.” He laughed softly and stroked her upper arm. “It’s meant more to you than it ever meant to me.”
True, she knew. That house had represented a life that she’d wanted, security and comfort. She loved everything about it. But she would never walk into it again and not be reminded of Chase, of what he’d come to mean to her in so short a time. She wouldn’t have believed that it was possible that she could fall so completely for someone in just a few days and yet…she could feel him in her blood, in her bones, in every cell in her body. She’d undergone a chemical change and knew she’d never be the same.
The fantasy had become the reality and so, so much more.
“I’ll oversee everything else,” she told him, her voice thickening. “Finish up things at the business for you.”
He was quiet for a minute and when he spoke, his voice, too, was a bit shaky. “I appreciate it. You’ve been great,” he said. “I’m not good at…saying the things I need to say, but…I couldn’t have gotten through this without you.”
Her throat swelled.
“I, uh…I was in pretty bad shape before I ever got here,” he admitted, confirming some of her suspicions. “To tell you the truth, I was glad when I got the call about Dad. Not because he was dead,” he hastened to add. “But because it gave me the opportunity to leave for a bit. It offered an escape.”
She frowned and burrowed closer to him. “An escape? From what?”
“From being a soldier and all that implies.” He sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it. It’s what I was born to do. I love the lifestyle, the purpose, the camaraderie. I don’t even mind the war,” he admitted. “It’s the death I’m struggling with.”
Ahh. “Unfortunately, they go hand in hand.”
“Yeah,” he agreed solemnly. His sigh stirred her hair. “What happened?”
“A lot of complicated nonsense that ultimately took the lives of innocent women and children. The soldiers on both sides know that death is an option, that it can happen. But you sign up anyway, you know? Because you want to do your part. God and country and all that.” He paused and she could feel the grief rolling off him. “But the innocent people caught in between…that’s where it gets tough. There was this pregnant woman in the midst of all that horror. I can’t get her image out of my head. She’s with me all the time now.”
Her heart broke at the despondency in his tone. It tore at her and ate her up and just imagining the picture his words created made her wince with regret and remorse. He’d seen it.
She hugged him closer. “I’m so sorry, Chase.”
He sighed. “It is what it is.”
“And yet you still want this life, knowing that something like this could happen again?”
“I want this life because I want to stop something like this from happening again,” he told her. “Is that unrealistic? Probably. But I can’t not try. When we stop trying, we’re screwed, you know?”
Honor, she thought. Antiquated, yes, but still evident. Still out there. “You’re a fine man, Chase Harrison.”
And she meant every word.
She felt him smile against her head and he tightened his arms around her. “Thank you. You’re pretty damned special yourself.”
“Nah,” she told him. “I’m just a worker bee. You’ve got a cause.”
“Not true,” he scolded. “Your cause is to do the best that you can do, to be better than you were taught. That’s noble. That’s just.”
She smiled, pleased at his assessment. “Well, I guess when you put it like that I don’t sound so bad
, do I?”
“You’re not bad. You’re fabulous. I’m…going to miss you.”
She was going to miss him, too. Desperately. “We’ll have to keep in touch,” she said. “This is not a goodbye,” she told him. “This is an until later.”
His laugh rumbled through her. “An until later,” he repeated. “I like that.” He kissed her again, slowly, deeply, with a frantic edge she recognized because she felt it herself. “I’d better go,” he murmured. “I’ve got to finish getting my own stuff together and return the rental.”
She felt tears prick the backs of her eyes, but was determined not to cry in front of him. “Okay.”
He pressed another lingering kiss to her forehead. “Until later,” he murmured and slipped quietly from the room.
Then she broke down.
WITH EVERY STEP he took away from her Chase felt as though he were leaving a part of himself behind. He’d never look at another flower and not think of her. He’d never think about his old house again and not wonder which room she was in and what she was doing. He’d made love to her from one end of the old Victorian to the other, had taken her the first time on the kitchen table. He’d confided things in her he hadn’t shared with another soul, and leaving her now felt so…wrong, so heinous, it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other.
He quickly showered and gathered his things, then loaded them into the car. The bulk of the items he’d decided to keep—mementos, his father’s pocket knife, a painting that his mother had loved—were going to be put in storage until he had a proper place to keep them. Rorie had offered to take care of that, as well. She’d offered him everything without expecting a single thing in return. Extraordinary.
She was one of a kind. She was hardworking, sexy and loyal. She was funny and smart and had a hair-trigger temper he found oddly endearing. She didn’t like her food to touch any other food on the plate, and she loved her kitten, even though she’d discovered she was allergic to her. She was the most wonderful, fascinating woman he’d ever met in his life and he could easily see why his father had all but adopted her. Rorie deserved this house and all it implied—home and family, security and love—Chase thought as he strolled back inside to make certain he’d gotten everything.
He admired the spindles he’d worked so hard on, the gleaming floors and woodwork, the copper tiles on the ceiling. The previous owner had painted them, much to Holland’s horror, and it had been Chase who’d been charged with stripping and polishing each individual square. If nothing else, he’d learned to be thorough from his father. That giving one hundred percent, your absolute best every time, wasn’t always worth the effort, but built character.
He felt a knot well up in his throat and swallowed hard. He could see his father in every aspect of this house and, though he’d hated it growing up, Chase now let all of that anger go and simply absorbed the beauty and reverence in every carefully restored board.
Finding the scrapbook yesterday had been like ripping a scab off an old wound. It had hurt. It had bled. But ultimately, that blood cleansed the gash. His father had loved him. He had been proud of him. And, even though he’d never vocalized anything other than criticism and displeasure, he had cared much more than Chase had ever realized. He’d needed to know that. He’d needed that assurance and, in getting it, however belatedly, he’d forgiven Holland. He’d needed that, as well.
He only wished that they had sorted their differences out under other circumstances, but who was to say that would have even happened? Who was to say that they would have ever had the conversation necessary to clear the air? Chase certainly wouldn’t have started that particular talk, and he didn’t think his father ever would have either. A firm believer in everything happening for a reason, Chase merely nodded one last goodbye to the old place and silently let himself out.
It was Rorie’s house now.
Rorie.
He missed her already and hadn’t even made it out of the driveway yet. For one insane instant he considered going back and asking her to wait for him until this tour was up, to give him some time to sort all of this out in his head. Did he love her? Terrifyingly, he thought so. Leaving her couldn’t possibly hurt so badly unless she owned a part of him, right?
He looked at the house again, the security he knew she needed, and resisted the impulse to go back to her, though it cost him. He couldn’t ask her to give this up for him and he couldn’t move back here. He was a soldier. The military was his way of life. He didn’t know who else to be. How else to be. He didn’t have any idea how to make this work. “Chase!”
He looked up and saw her running toward him. Hair disheveled, old robe in place, bare feet.
“Woman, where are your shoes?” he demanded. “You’ll catch your death.”
She hurried up to him and her eyes were wet with tears. “I, um…I gotta tell you something and I don’t know that I’ll ever get the chance or have the nerve again.” She was breathing raggedly, her cheeks flushed.
He slid a finger underneath her jaw and smiled when she shivered at his touch. “What is it, Aurora Rose?”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “Don’t call me that.”
“I love it,” he said simply.
“And I love you,” she said, her eyes melting with emotion.
He staggered. “Rorie, I—”
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “No, you don’t have to say anything and I certainly don’t expect anything, but I don’t think you’ve heard those words enough in your life and before you walk out of mine I want you to know that I love you.” She smiled at him, almost shyly, but determined. “That I think you are freaking fabulous. That I am honored to know you.”
She was right. He hadn’t heard those words a lot when he was growing up. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever hearing them at all once his mother left.
She loved him.
Her breathing still shaky, she managed a smile. “I know it’s crazy, that we haven’t known each other long enough for this. I’ve given myself every argument…but my heart just won’t listen. I’m in love with you, and I just wanted you to know that before you left.”
“Rorie—”
She held up a hand. “You don’t have to say anything. I don’t expect—”
He placed a finger over her lips and her startled gaze found his. “Would you let me finish, please?”
She nodded contritely.
“I don’t want to leave you,” he said. “I know that I am supposed to get into this truck and drive away, but I don’t want to go. The feeling is so strong it’s practically rooted me to the ground. I wish that I could ask you to come with me, to give this up.” He gestured to the house. “To sell this place and let me make you a home.” He sighed, struggled. “I…love you, too, Rorie. But I can’t do that to you. I can’t be that selfish.”
Her eyes filled with tears and her wobbly smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “The only selfish thing you can do is walk away from me without telling me you’ll be mine, Chase.” Her gaze searched his. “This house is gorgeous and I love it, but without love it’s not a home, not a true one anyway. My home is with you.” She smiled again. “I just want to be where you are.”
His chest expanded to the point he was afraid it would burst. Happiness saturated every cell in his body. “You’re sure? You’d give this up for me? You’d follow me around the world? You’d wait for me until my tour is up?”
She looped her arms around his neck and, with a little jump, her legs around his waist. “In a heartbeat.”
“And you’re sure this is the life you want? That you won’t be sorry?”
“I am absolutely certain that you are what I want and if that means following you to the ends of the earth, then I’m game for that, too. I just need to breathe the same air as you.” He knew exactly what she meant.
“So this really isn’t a goodbye?”
She shook her head and kissed the underside of his jaw. “Definitely not,” she said. “This is
an until later. And later can’t come soon enough to suit me.”
“I’ll be back,” he promised.
She smiled a watery smile. “I’ll be waiting.”
PACKING HEAT
Karen Foley
For SSGT Matt Nelson, the real hero behind this story.
Thank you for your service.
1
Anbar Province, Iraq
A BULLET whizzed past Matt Talbot’s head. He felt the air stir near his cheek in the same instant that he heard a dull thwap against the wall behind him.
Instinctively, he flattened his body against the ruined wall of what had once been a shepherd’s hut and swept the scope of his rifle along the treeline of a distant orchard. His vision was hampered by the thick black smoke and flames spewing from the wreckage of the two Humvees and the lead supply truck that only minutes ago had been leading a military convoy through the dangerous region. Now they lay flipped on their sides, twisted and charred beyond recognition by the rocket-propelled grenades that had destroyed them. The remaining vehicles in the thirty-truck convoy had veered off the road in two separate formations and were taking fire from insurgents on both sides of the roadway.
The desert sun beat relentlessly on Matt’s back, and, beneath the Kevlar vest and camo jacket, his T-shirt clung damply to his body. Sweat trickled down his face and into his eyes. He blinked it away, not taking his gaze from the sniper scope mounted on top of his rifle.
For almost a week he’d lain concealed on a rocky ledge nearly a mile from a remote village where intel said insurgents were planning another attack against the American forces. He and his spotter had slept in fitful shifts, had barely eaten, and only after five days of relentless surveillance—with no sign of any insurgency—had they received word that the intel had been false. They’d been extracted from the region by a special ops contingent and had been traveling back to their operating base when they’d made a detour to provide security to the supply convoy. They’d heard the explosions and had seen the smoke just before they’d reached the scene.
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