by Kay Stockham
Maybe. And that was great; the world needed more people like Ethan. But she wondered if there was more to it. She couldn’t help but think people like that, people able to do those types of things, had never known true, life-and-death fear. Gut-knotting, heart-in-your-throat terror where you wonder if the end is a breath away. If they had, she believed most wouldn’t volunteer to go face more of the same. “How did you meet Simon?”
Ethan speared his fingers through his hair and raked the short strands back. “Word reached the camp that a group of children were trying to make their way to us.”
“Alone?”
“They’d started off with a couple of their teachers, but the adults had either abandoned them or died trying to protect them from the guerillas in pursuit. Simon is—was—my translator’s nephew. Isa had already lost his sister to AIDS a year earlier and he didn’t want to lose Simon to the fighting.”
Her brain focused on one word—AIDS. “Was Simon infected by his mother?” The shock of it gave her pause. After leaving Sean, she’d moved around quite a few times. But in every city she’d made a point of going to the support groups and counseling classes held at the shelters. She’d read the pamphlets and attended the free meetings on domestic violence and she knew the statistics.
“No. But the spread of the disease is one of the many reasons Isa asked me to bring Simon home as my son. Isa wanted Simon to be in a safer place, one where the meds are available if Simon ever needs them, where he wouldn’t be kidnapped and forced to fight.” Ethan rubbed his palm over his eye. “Simon’s tested negative for HIV twice already. He’ll have another test in six months, but it’s more of a precaution since the first two were negative.”
She thought of Simon’s sweet little face, pictured his huge honey-colored eyes. Innocent, and yet old beyond his years. “Simon’s here with you because his uncle didn’t make it.” Ethan gave her a slow nod, his expression so tormented a lump appeared in her throat. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
Her heart stalled in her chest when Ethan lowered his head. She was more than ready to drop the subject now but Ethan made no effort to walk away.
“We went after the kids. We had to because—If the rebels found them first, they’d force them into their army. It’s their standard recruiting procedure,” he explained, his tone taking on a lethal dose of disgust. “Their so-called army is filled with children, some of them not even in puberty, carting around machine guns because if they don’t, their family members are murdered as punishment.”
She covered her mouth with her hand. Poor little Simon. He must have been so terrified. Thank God Ethan had gone after them, that there were men left in the world who’d protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.
“I pictured Matt, Nick’s son, in the same situation. He’s nine. No kid deserves that kind of life.”
Jenn had a nine-year-old stepson? Once more her heart stuttered and stopped. Megan quickly slammed closed the mental gate about to release the flood of anger inside her. So many regrets, so many wishes. She couldn’t think about it, couldn’t allow herself to consider possibilities that no longer existed, of what she’d lost. If she did, if she didn’t keep those thoughts locked away, she couldn’t breathe because her arms felt so empty, the pieces of her shattered heart cutting like glass. How would she ever move forward?
By outsmarting Sean and disappearing for good.
Focusing on Ethan rather than the things she couldn’t change, Megan reached out and tentatively touched his hand, stroked her fingertips over the bumpy, lightly chapped knuckles. She hurt for him and the loss of his friend, recognized the anger and the horrific sense of useless waste.
“The rebels caught us. They typically left the base camp alone because the hospital had treated several of their members. The camp heard the gunfire and the guards came to help, and we found ourselves stuck in the middle.”
She pictured the scene, the chaos. “How old were they?”
“None of them were over eleven.”
Her hand tightened on his, pulled it closer until she held him against her waist, hugging him to her. “Simon?”
“He was one of the youngest. He probably would’ve been killed or else kept for a slave or entertainment until he was older.” Ethan swore softly. “The girls were crying. They knew what would happen to them if the rebels got hold of them.”
“Oh, those poor kids.”
He looked up, his gaze meeting hers. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, at least not now. This isn’t exactly a bedtime story.”
His hand rolled beneath hers, until they were palm to palm, his thumb stroking oh-so gently over her skin. Surprise surged at the flash fire the simple caress sent spiraling through her, but she didn’t fight it. Her instincts were hard-earned and honed by Sean’s fists, and in that moment it felt nice to be touched by a man. “I don’t need bedtime stories.” The rasp of his skin against hers sent a shiver through her. “I’m not a child. Whatever happened…it won’t scare me.”
“And why is that?”
He’d lowered his voice to match hers, the darkness surrounding them cozy.
“What happened to you, Megan? What really brought you to Beauty? Was it Jenn and whatever’s going on between you two, or something else?”
CHAPTER SIX
ETHAN HADN’T MEANT TO PUSH Megan for answers until she was better, but he couldn’t help it. Still, he regretted the questions when she pulled her hand away. The light from the hall let him see her tense features, assuring him he’d pushed too far, too fast.
Megan shifted away from him on the pretense of snuggling more deeply into his bed and the sight stalled him. Even sick she drew his interest. And the sight of her there? Virtual stranger or not, she just seemed to fit.
Something about the way she looked at him compelled him to share memories he hadn’t been able to verbalize except in the most basic way to his family and colleagues. Maybe if he told her about his past, what he’d been through, she’d share more of her life before coming to Beauty? It was worth a shot, especially since his impression was that once she was well, Megan’s guard would be up and she’d only share what she chose. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
That earned a small smile. “My what?”
“Your story.”
“What’s to tell? Look, all I’m saying is that anyone can see Simon isn’t a normal kid. He’s old beyond his years. I noticed that as soon as I saw him. He was up in the tree at Jenn’s and…he sat so still.”
She had no reason to trust him. Maybe in time she would. “They learn at an early age that if there’s trouble they need to disappear if they can.”
“But if they can’t?”
Her gaze swallowed him whole and Ethan felt himself getting sucked into the warmth and tenderness and wariness he saw in her eyes. It wasn’t as disconcerting as it probably should’ve been. “They also learn to fight.”
“Is that what you did? When the rebels found you?”
“We had to. We were pinned down, stuck between the gunfire.”
“Were any of the children hurt?”
He heard their screams in his head, the deafening quiet when it stopped. “Physically they only had superficial wounds. But emotionally?” He was having nightmares and he hadn’t been through half of what the kids had gone through. He could only imagine….
“What happened to Isa?”
He stood and moved away from the bed, unable to sit still. He didn’t have to tell her, but at the same time he wanted to. “When it looked as though the hospital guard had won, we moved toward the base camp again. One of the rebels came out of nowhere.” In his head the man’s image appeared, black eyes glazed, the evilest of smiles. All of eighteen, the killer had been high on drugs and the rush of murdering innocents. “He laughed and said something about taking the kids another way.” He braced his fist on the wall, his blood pumping through his veins fast enough to cause a roar in his ears. “He pointed the gun at me and Isa…. Isa
jumped in front of me as the guy pulled the trigger.”
“He took the bullet for you?”
With the image replaying itself in his head, Ethan hit the wall with his fist. The force of it rattled pictures, but he regretted his temper when Megan inhaled sharply and he turned to see her looking around as though ready to bolt from the bed for a safe place to hide. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just…I see it. In my head. I see Isa doing that and I can’t stop it.”
Her expression softened at his words; the fear disappeared and was replaced by understanding. “You see it over and over again, don’t you? Like a bad dream you can’t wake up from. I know how…how frustrating and upsetting it can be.”
“I’m sorry I scared you.”
“Hey, don’t worry about me. The medicine is just making me jumpy.”
Her hair stood up at all angles; the old football jersey he’d given her to wear swallowed her and made her look ten years younger than she was, and she sounded like her throat was raw, yet he’d never seen a more appealing woman.
You’re horny. She’s Jenn’s sister, remember?
“Ethan? Really, keep going. Tell me all of it. Please. Where was he—Where was Isa hit?”
Where wasn’t he? “Everywhere. I might have been able to save him if there had been a single shot but—Isa was hit at least a dozen times. One bullet grazed my leg but Isa took the rest.”
Her hand was over her mouth again. He fought the urge to rejoin her on the bed and pull her into his arms, whether it was to comfort her or himself he wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know what to say. I can see the guilt on your face, but you didn’t ask him to protect you. Isa made the call. It was his choice, not yours.”
As soon as the words emerged from her mouth Megan frowned, her eyebrows furrowing in a contemplative expression as though considering them in regard to something else.
“That doesn’t change the fact that he shouldn’t have died for me. He was still conscious. Bleeding out. I asked him why and he said—” Covered in sweat and dirt and blood, Isa’s face appeared in Ethan’s mind, along with the kindness and hope in the man’s eyes as he’d bled to death. The lump in Ethan’s throat grew until it was hard to speak. “He said my life was more important, that the sacrifice of one for many was an honor and one of love for his people.”
Megan was looking his way, but he doubted she could see much in the darkness. Given the burning in his eyes, he was glad she couldn’t. “How do I not feel guilty that a good man gave his life for me?”
She made a sympathetic sound. “You shouldn’t feel guilty because Isa did what he wanted to do,” she said softly, her voice low. “What he felt he had to do. And I think—” she glanced down, her fingers twisting the material of the sheet “—if it came down to it, I—Isa would do it again.”
Maybe it was his imagination but he could have sworn she’d said I and changed it to Isa. What sacrifice had she made? In regard to Jenn?
“You look exhausted. Why don’t you go to bed and try to rest. Maybe talking about it helped some.”
“Maybe.” Turning, Ethan retraced his steps to the door. Megan looked so small in the bed, all eyes and dark hair and pale, pale skin. Fear and sadness, stoic vulnerability. He had to find out what her sacrifice had been. Why she’d done it, who she’d sacrificed for.
“Good night, Ethan. Thanks for letting me stay.”
His grip tightened on the doorknob. “Good night.”
After leaving Megan’s room, Ethan checked on Simon, swearing softly when he found the boy lying on the floor instead of in the bed. Simon twitched and flinched in his sleep, his forehead wrinkling at whatever image his mind held.
Ethan debated whether to return Simon to the bed or let him be. The past couple weeks had proven that Simon just got back on the floor after Ethan left the bedroom, so he grabbed the blanket and covered the sleeping boy.
Sweet dreams for a change, buddy. Sweet dreams.
Straightening, Ethan rubbed his neck, exhausted. The talk with Megan had brought back gut-churning memories. Painful regrets. Isa had begged him to give Simon a good life, but how could Ethan give Simon anything when the boy was so distant? Simon obviously wasn’t adjusting to living with him. They’d been in Beauty four weeks, together every day. But they’d made little to no progress. What would it take? Simon was as distant as the day of Isa’s death. Did Simon blame him for what happened? Think he should’ve died instead?
Ethan headed back to the living room to straighten up, but nothing was out of place. Books were put away in the bin, crayons stored, pillows neat. The coffee table and side tables gleamed with polish.
He entered the kitchen, searching for something to occupy him and take his mind off his thoughts. Sometimes if he was exhausted enough he got a few hours of sleep in before the nightmares began.
The kitchen was clean, not even a crumb on the floor.
Restless, he pulled out a rag anyway.
“SIMON, DON’T JUST sit there. Eat.”
Megan made her way toward the sound of Ethan’s voice, feeling like a bus had hit her. How long had she slept?
Long enough for someone to get your suitcase.
“Simon.”
Jeez, what was Ethan’s problem? After their late-night talk, she would’ve guessed him to be a little more patient. He certainly seemed heroic with his jaunts to Third World countries and rescuing orphans and strays like herself. Barking at the kid wasn’t the way to get Simon to eat or do anything else. She ought to know. When her parents or Jenn had yelled at her, she’d done the opposite of what they’d wanted, just to piss them off.
Not every kid is as stubborn as you.
Megan made her way through the living room slowly, her fingertips smoothing over walls and furniture because her balance still wasn’t what it should be and her legs felt like someone had removed the bones and replaced them with goo.
She’d washed her face and found her toothbrush in her suitcase, but her hair was a mess of tangles nothing short of a shower and good conditioning would get out. She didn’t have the energy to deal with that now. Ethan and Simon would have to get used to her bedhead.
Water ran and dishes clanked together. She followed the sounds but paused outside what she assumed was the kitchen door, unease filling her even though she wasn’t sure why.
The living room was decorated with a plush leather couch, coffee and side tables, a couple recliners and a cherry dining table with matching chairs. A big-screen television took up most of one wall and hung over a fireplace. But other than a few photo frames atop the mantel and pictures on the wall, absolutely nothing cluttered the room. The floor was clean—the vacuum marks visible—and not a speck of dust could be seen.
So he’s got a great housekeeper. Good for him.
She walked over to the window facing the street and peeked out from behind the blind, noting the neighbors’ cars and looking for anything suspicious. Maybe it was the room and its neatness but she was on edge. Would Sean think to come to Tennessee?
Stop worrying. Give it a rest already.
She glanced at the room once more, the knot in her stomach growing. Sean had had a thing about clutter. No knickknacks, no magazines, no baskets or pretties. Nothing to make a home feel like a home. The cold medicine made her woozy and disoriented. Who’s to say it hadn’t taken the edge off her instincts where Ethan was concerned?
“Simon, it’s getting cold. Eat.”
Forcibly shoving her thoughts aside, Megan reminded herself that not all guys were like the husband in Sleeping with the Enemy. Not all were Sean. And a busy guy like Ethan hired stuff out. Bachelors weren’t known for being domestic, right? Nor were they known for having pretties lying around.
She took a fortifying breath and made her entrance into the kitchen where the man in question stood washing dishes at the sink, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. Ethan turned when he heard her and her already weak knees threatened to buckle.
Well, crud. No
w she wished she had mustered the energy to shower, but since he’d seen her at her worst, she’d considered herself safe. What a crock.
She remembered dark hair and a heck of a smile, she even remembered him striking her as somewhat handsome, but had Ethan Tulane always been so gorgeous? She didn’t remember that. She’d felt so bad at Jenn’s that she truly hadn’t paid any attention but…hellllllo, doctor.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ETHAN HAD A DIMPLE in his left cheek that flashed when he smiled a greeting at her. It was amazing what that did to soften his too-chiseled features. Amazing what it did to her insides, sick though she was. It was too bad he was such a grouch because the man was seriously lethal on the senses.
And huge. Something else she apparently hadn’t noticed. She didn’t like big men, and Ethan towered a good six inches over her five-eight. He wasn’t overly muscular, but lean and long and lanky, dressed in faded blue jeans and an untucked white shirt, his large hairy feet bare. She’d always considered brains sexy and humility a turn-on, but the two together in an I’m-a-surgeon-but-I’m-just-a-man package was downright toe-curling.
“Hey, you’re up,” Ethan said, his smile growing wider. “How do you feel?”
A list of words ran through her head, none of them appropriate for children. “Alive.” She glanced at Simon, a smile at the ready, but the boy didn’t look up.
Ethan gestured toward the table. “Sit down and I’ll fix you something to eat.”
She eyed the kid’s plate. Whoa. No wonder Simon wasn’t smiling—or eating. “Um…I’d love some coffee.”
“You’ve haven’t eaten anything but soup for days. You need real food.”
Megan blinked, taken aback by his words. “What do you mean, days?”
“It’s Wednesday. You ran a high fever when you arrived on Monday, but it broke early yesterday morning. You’ve been sleeping ever since.” Ethan grabbed a towel to dry his hands. “Let me give you my doctor speech and get it over with, okay? Don’t ever let yourself get that run-down again. Exhaustion is serious when you’re dealing with your immune system. You made it to Jenn and Nick’s just in time. I doubt you would’ve made it any farther without causing an accident.”
