The Marine's Family Mission

by Victoria Pade

  “I was a trigger,” he finished for her. Surprisingly, he sounded as if he liked that explanation, though she couldn’t imagine why that would be the case. “But you got over that by the wedding?”

  “I didn’t know if it would happen until I actually did see you.”

  “And it didn’t.”

  “No.”

  “Did it not happen at all or did you keep it from happening by drinking?”

  That sounded like another testing-for-symptoms-of-PTSD question. “It didn’t happen at all. So I was drinking to celebrate that—along with the wedding—because that was the first really big sign that I was on the mend.”

  Another nod from him. “You were getting back to the real you then. At the wedding.”

  That seemed like a strange thing to say and she didn’t know how to respond. She settled on the most obvious reply. “I’ve always been the real me. The explosion just caused a few glitches.”

  “Were there any at the wedding?”

  The only glitch then had been his. Or maybe hers when she’d misread him. But either way they’d gone through enough tonight, and Emmy didn’t want to get into the wedding stuff now, too. So she merely said, “I actually felt like the wedding was a sign that I was getting on top of the explosion aftershocks because there weren’t any glitches. I’d promised Carla that if seeing you caused a panic attack, I’d see a psychologist. When it didn’t, even she relaxed a little on that and started to believe that I was doing okay.”

  He nodded again and let another moment go by with only the steady patter of the rain.

  Then he said, “You’re a tough little thing, aren’t you?”

  He said that as if he intended it as a compliment. But tough? That didn’t seem too flattering.

  She felt better enough to turn her shoulder to the screen and face him. Better enough to meet those intense blue eyes with her own. “I’ve never thought of myself that way.”

  “Not everyone could do what you’re doing—with your ‘glitches,’ with the kids, the farm... Even though you’re just flying by the seat of your pants, you still jump in, plow ahead...” And yes, he’d gone on in a tone that said it was all something that impressed him.

  That sexy mouth of his only got sexier when he smiled the way he was right then—more with one side than the other.

  It caused Emmy to lose her train of thought for a split second so the only response she could come up with was a shrug before she said, “I really am just flying by the seat of my pants—that’s true.”

  “There’s a fearlessness to that—no matter what attics or broken branches do to you,” he commended.

  Tough and fearless—again she wasn’t sure those were how she wanted to be described.

  But then she reminded herself of what was really between them. They were partners in dealing with the farm and the kids—but nothing more.

  Since she had to resist falling into thinking anything else, maybe it was good that his flattery was so utilitarian.

  Still, there was an intensity in the way he was looking at her that made it hard to believe there wasn’t a little something more in it.

  And when his eyes slowly drifted down to her mouth, she didn’t know what he could be thinking about except kissing her.

  Okay, this is where it gets dangerous, she told herself.

  He’d been great in the attic and in the time since then. When he was thoughtful enough to bring her a drink. When he was being supportive and offering more understanding, more solace than she’d found even with Carla. When he was being sweet and kind.

  Now here he was, this gorgeous man, looking at her with something almost simmering in those eyes. It all chipped away at her resolve, at her certainty that he wasn’t interested in or attracted to her. It sure seemed as if all of it might be leading to a kiss...

  No, she couldn’t think like that. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t.

  Eyes wide open. No illusions...

  And yet it occurred to her that when she’d thought he was going to kiss her last night she’d told herself she was imagining it.

  But she didn’t know that for sure because she’d turned tail and run away from him. The only way she would have known for sure was if she had waited to see how it played out.

  And tonight she was going to do that.

  So she stayed where she was, she drank in the sight of that hella-handsome face that was all sharp angles and masculinity. She breathed in the scent of his cologne mingling with the rain. She could even feel the warmth coming from his big body.

  And no, she didn’t think she was imagining the electricity that seemed to charge the air around them.

  But maybe she was, because he didn’t kiss her. He just raised his eyes from her mouth and said, “How’s the bee sting? I should take a look at that, see if it’s better now that the stinger is out.”

  So no, he hadn’t been going to kiss her and she had been imagining things.

  Stop setting yourself up for this!

  “It feels better,” she managed to say, wanting to kick herself for building anticipation of a kiss only to face another fall.

  “Let me take a look anyway,” he insisted.

  Emmy returned to facing the screen and dropped her head forward while she focused on the evening air coming in and cooling her off, wondering once more why it was that every time she thought things were going one way with this guy, they went another.

  Wondering when she was going to figure him out so she could stop doing this to herself.

  He bent forward enough to see the sting and studied it. “It’s not as bad as it was but I still think it needs to be iced. I brought the frozen peas with me when I came down and put them back in the freezer—I think you ought to take them with you when you go to bed.”

  “Sure,” she muttered, trying to sound casual to make it seem as if nothing about the last few minutes had been anything more than friendly to her.

  But if the sting looked all right, why was he still bent over her?

  Then she felt his hand on her back again, the way it had been in the attic but different. He wasn’t bracing her, it was just there, lightly, making contact, connecting them.

  And then he did kiss her—on the nape, nowhere near the bee sting, at the very base of her neck. Gently, his lips barely making contact. His breath was a warm brush against her skin, and still it sent a rush of pleasure from that spot all through her.

  It was there for only a brief moment before he was gone and all that was left was a tingling where his mouth had been.

  “Just wanted to follow Trinity’s advice to make it better,” he said facetiously in a husky voice, finally standing tall again and rearing back, away from her.

  Emmy wasn’t sure what to make of that, so all she could think to do was play along. “That definitely did the trick—I’m healed,” she joked.

  She straightened up and turned to face him again, willing him to do more than that. To kiss her for real. On the lips.

  But he merely pushed off the doorjamb, took the empty glass from her and suddenly it was business as usual.

  After the wedding reception, she’d been sure that he was going to kiss her good-night and he hadn’t.

  Now he had kissed her, and she still felt as if she’d been left hanging. A little buss on the back of the neck just didn’t cut it. It only served to whet her appetite.

  And leave her wondering about him yet again.

  Had the kiss really only been playful, nothing but a joke based on Trinity’s kiss-it-and-make-it-better insistence? Or had it been something more?

  But there were no answers to be had, so Emmy closed the back door and followed Declan into the kitchen, where he was rinsing the glass and putting it in the dishwasher.

  “If you need help with Kit, wake me,” she said as she passed through.

  “Sure
” was his completely bland and benign response before she took the bag of peas from the freezer and they exchanged good-nights. As if nothing had happened.

  Because maybe it had been only a joke.

  It just hadn’t seemed like it.

  And again with no answers she headed up the stairs to her room, still thinking about that kiss on the neck, still unable to tell for sure what was going on.

  But knowing without a doubt that until she had some certainty, she had to protect herself. She had to not get sucked in.

  And yet even after she’d made her way to bed and was resting on her pillow with the frozen peas on the bee sting, she was still thinking about Declan.

  Still feeling his lips on her neck.

  And as much as she willed it not to be true, it was still the feel of Declan’s lips on her own that she was itching for...

  Chapter Six

  “I didn’t know if I’d ever be saying this, let alone so soon, but yeah, I think you’ll pass your med eval—and not just for limited duty. I think they’ll clear you.”

  The words were music to Declan’s ears.

  On Wednesday his older brother, Conor, had arrived at the Madison farm with Conor’s old-flame-now-new-bride Maicy. After putting in a full day’s work at the Samms farm, Declan and Emmy had left Trinity and Kit with a second babysitter for the evening. Later on, they planned to attend a meeting of the organic farmer’s co-op in Northbridge.

  But first they’d made a stop at the Madison farm so Declan could see—and be examined by—Conor, who combined his medical degree with his overbearing-eldest-brother nature to fuss over Declan like a mother hen. While that was going on, Emmy was meeting with Kinsey to plan the wedding pictures.

  “Your range of motion is surprisingly good,” Conor continued. “There’s no swelling. If the pain isn’t enough for you to take a pain reliever even after a full day of hard labor—”

  “And after walking with a crying baby for hours last night,” Declan put in.

  “Then yeah, I think you could actually get back to your unit—if that’s what you want.”

  “That’s what I want,” Declan said resolutely.

  In fact, knowing he and Emmy would leave here to go into Northbridge—where he would see people he’d known and loathed while growing up—made him all the more eager to be back on the job. The idea of facing those people who had disliked and looked down on him was about as appealing to him as getting shot.

  But apparently that didn’t show because his older brother frowned curiously at him and said, “Seems like you’re in better spirits, too.”

  “Does it?” Declan countered, wanting—as always—to avoid another conversation about his emotional state.

  Still, his brother’s observation did make him think about his mood lately, and it struck him that he might be in a slightly improved frame of mind.

  He wasn’t quite sure why. There was nothing about losing Topher that had gotten any easier for him. Walking with Kit in the dead of night was actually an exercise in mental and emotional torture—every room he went in and out of brought memories of times there with the friend he’d lost. Every bounce, every jiggle, every whisper to that tiny baby boy in his arms reminded him that Topher had never gotten to hold his own son.

  And yet, in spite of that, he realized that his feelings of guilt, his remorse, even some of his grief, weren’t as constant as they’d been before. That he was weighed down a little less...ever since he’d talked about it with Emmy.

  Nothing she’d said had made him feel absolved. But thinking about Topher’s letigo motto had eased some of his depression. And he guessed that maybe it did help to know that Mandy hadn’t blamed him—that she didn’t seem to think Topher would have blamed him either.

  “This is the first time in eight months that you seem more like yourself,” Conor was saying. “The first time that it doesn’t seem like you’re just barely plugged into what’s going on around you.”

  Declan shrugged.

  “It’s a big deal, Dec,” his brother insisted. “You’re not making me worry about where your head is. You haven’t just figured out how to hide it better, have you? You haven’t reached some kind of decision...”

  That last part sounded ominous and it caused Declan to chuckle. “Wow, that was a fast trip from thinking I’m better to thinking something worse is going on.”

  Conor was studying him now. “To go from as down as you’ve been to calm isn’t always a good sign,” said the professional in his brother.

  “I haven’t made up my mind to do harm to myself—that’s what you’re getting at, right? I know for some people, making the decision can bring on a kind of peace, but that’s not what’s going on here.”

  “What has happened, then?”

  “Emmy has said a few things and... I don’t know... But I do know that you don’t have to worry about me. The body, the leg, are coming along and I’m ready to get back to where I’m supposed to be, to do what I’m supposed to be doing.”

  “So Emmy—the photographer, Topher’s sister-in-law, who’s now his kids’ guardian...” Declan and Conor were alone in the kitchen, Emmy was in the living room with Kinsey, and Conor inclined his head in that direction. “You’ve talked to her about...things?”

  Declan shrugged again. “It’s come up” was the most he would admit to.

  “And that had more impact than any psychiatrist or psychologist I sent around?”

  “Maybe it was just the right time for me to actually listen? I don’t know, Conor. I just know that you don’t have to worry about me. I’m doing okay.”

  “Because of the pretty little redhead.”

  “I wouldn’t call her a redhead. Her hair is just a little reddish, mostly in the sun.”

  Conor nodded his head sagely. “No denial that she’s pretty, though.”

  “Why would I deny what’s obvious to anybody who looks at her?”

  Another perceptive nod. “Hey, I’m just good with anything that’s helping you.”

  Declan couldn’t deny that Emmy fit that description, so he just didn’t say anything at all.

  “But you still want to go back to your unit?” Conor asked.

  “Hell-bent on it,” Declan confirmed.

  “Okay, if you say so.”

  “I say so.”

  Conor’s smug smile rubbed him the wrong way but Declan decided the best option was to change the subject. “Did Kinsey get any RSVPs from the Camdens?”

  That sobered Conor considerably. “No. But I suppose you know there was a DNA match.”

  “She told me.”

  “I wish there wasn’t,” Conor said somewhat under his breath.

  “You and me both,” Declan agreed.

  “But I guess Kinsey is happy about it.”

  “God, I wish she’d just left it alone!” Declan said, thinking again about going into town from here, about the stigma of their past and the potential for having it brought to the surface again, about how his only escape from it years ago had been to the marines, and how—now that Kinsey was intent on stirring it up—he just wanted out of here all the more.

  Although oddly that nagged at him a little, and when he explored what he had going for him here, he realized it was Emmy who came to mind. That he didn’t like the idea that putting this town behind him again meant putting her behind him.

  It was weird.

  It had to have more to do with Kit and Trinity and the farm, he reasoned. It had to have more to do with wanting to do something for Topher.

  Didn’t it?

  Yeah, that must be it. It wasn’t about the quiet time he and Emmy spent together after the kids were in bed. It wasn’t about wanting to hold her last night when she was upset. It wasn’t about wanting to kiss her so damn bad that he hadn’t been able to control it, although he’d restrained himself to kissing
her neck.

  No, it wasn’t about any of that. He wouldn’t let it be about any of that.

  “I guess if the Camdens don’t show and Kinsey bottoms out, at least we’ll all be here with her. For her,” Conor said, cutting into Declan’s wandering thoughts.

  “Yeah,” Declan agreed vaguely, still half thinking about why he should be in any way reluctant to say goodbye to Emmy.

  Conor glanced at the wall clock just then and stood. “I was supposed to wake Maicy from her post-travel nap twenty minutes ago. I’d better go do that.”

  “Yeah, sure, you better.”

  “I brought a new beer that’s brewed in Denver—help yourself,” Conor suggested as he headed for the door.

  “I will,” Declan answered, thinking that a drink before going into Northbridge was literally just what the doctor ordered.

  He took a bottle out of the fridge, read the label before closing the fridge and twisting off the bottle cap to toss into the trash. Then he turned around and leaned back against the sink to take a drink, opting to stay in the kitchen rather than join Emmy and Kinsey’s wedding-pictures discussion.

  But he was still stuck on the thought that had been distracting him—why the possibility of something prematurely calling a halt to his time with Emmy bothered him.

  It wasn’t as if this was some kind of romantic rendezvous that he didn’t want cut short. They were just temporarily working at a common goal. There wasn’t anything else going on.

  Okay, a little maybe—what with wanting to hold her and kiss her last night. What with having trouble ever keeping his eyes off her. What with having trouble not thinking about her, day and night, too.

  But even so, it didn’t mean anything beyond a passing attraction. Certainly nothing that should give him any kind of reluctance to say goodbye to her.

  Especially when he still had reservations about her.

  Because he did still have reservations about her.

  Although...

  Learning about her panic attacks last night did explain a few things. It canceled out his concern that he’d done something wrong in Afghanistan to make her refuse to see him. And it left him with more sympathy for her. Sympathy and understanding—of course she would have refused to see someone who caused her flashbacks.