Anger flashed inside Rocco. He held still, trying to let the feeling wash through him, but all it did was sit and fester. This stranger thanked him for his service-service that cost him his wife and son and unborn child. Thanked him for becoming more Afghan than American. Thanked him for losing his mind.
He ground his teeth to keep from saying something that would upset Mandy. She must have felt his tension. She put a hand on his thigh. He forced himself to nod at the man, trying to take the comment in the spirit it was intended. He pulled a long breath to calm himself. He knew he shouldn’t have come here tonight.
“Bobby turned pro on the rodeo circuit this year,” Mandy said, providing Rocco a welcome distraction.
Rocco looked at Bobby. “Congrats. What’s your event?”
“Steer wrestling.”
“He rodeoed all through high school and college,” Mandy told him. “He was always hitting up local businesses for sponsorship money before he started earning some nice prizes.”
“They’d see him coming and just take out their wallets,” Jerry added with a chuckle. “Then he struck gold. Found a first-class operation to sponsor him-a bank out of Jackson Hole. Bought him his pretty new rig.”
“Glad to see it’s worked out for you.” Rocco offered, though he couldn’t help but think that while this guy was wrestling steers and dreaming of the PRCA tour, Rocco was navigating the deadly Nangarhar and Kunar provinces in Afghanistan to infiltrate the Taliban’s upper echelon. Christ, how the hell was he going to make a life that held any meaning for him after having spent so many years on a razor’s edge?
“How’s the construction progressing, Mandy?” Ivy asked, moving the subject away from Bobby.
“It’s progressing, but slowly. You know the foundation had to be repoured for part of the stable. Nothing bad has happened since then. Maybe whoever was messing with us has moved on to other mischief. The pole barn is nearly finished. The fencing crews are making good progress in the lower pastures. Rocco has removed most of the barbed wire from the old pastures up by the house.
“Fingers crossed things continue smoothly now. I’m going to bring the horses over in a few weeks, once the upper corrals are finished. After I’ve worked with them a bit, maybe Casey could come over and help me put the horses through their paces. I train them with sacks of hay to get them used to unstable riders, but it would be good to get an actual child in the saddle to play that role.”
“She would love it!” Ivy accepted for her daughter.
The waitress returned with their drinks and took their meal orders. The DJ played a popular slow song that had couples leaving their tables and taking to the floor.
The plaintive chords of the music echoed inside Rocco. He realized how much he’d missed American music-Country especially. He hadn’t heard this song before, though it was obviously an old favorite with the crowd.
Mandy took his hand. He looked at her fingers bending across his knuckles and knew she was asking, oh so sweetly, if they couldn’t please dance. He looked at his hand, his forearm, his other forearm. All he saw was his blue chambray sleeves. No blood. No burned flesh. He’d come this far with no repercussions. Perhaps he could risk a dance.
He got out of the booth and offered Mandy his hand. The feel of her soft palm in his was almost more than he could bear. They moved around the tables and joined the swaying crowd on the dance floor.
Multicolored Christmas lights hung off suspended wagon wheel chandeliers, casting a festive glow across the dancers. The room was warm, filled with heated bodies in motion. The music was loud. The scents of food and liquor were strong in the air. Yet, when he faced Mandy on the floor, it all receded. It was as if he’d ducked under water, hearing things only through a dense filter. She smiled at him. He did not smile back. It took every ounce of his concentration to keep control of himself.
He’d wanted to hold her, to feel her in his arms, for the longest damn time. He knew her skin would be like velvet. He placed his hand on her waist, starting the dance with a respectful distance between their bodies. Somehow, on the crowded floor, she ended up against him, soft, curvy. Her naked legs forked his, her leather boots making shuffling sounds against the grainy floor. When she laid her head against his shoulder, he couldn’t resist pressing his face against her silky hair. He breathed her scent, faint, elusive. Its sweetness reminded him of jasmine. But not of Kadisha. Never her.
Heat pooled in his groin, intensified by the pressure of her belt buckle against his cock, every movement a stroke against his arousal. His hand traveled upward over her back, holding her tighter against him, pinning her breasts against his ribs. Others were dancing as close. No one noticed the liberties he was taking. He pressed his lips against the crown of her head. She moved slightly. He kissed halfway to her temple, and then touched his lips to the bare skin of her forehead.
He wasn’t even aware the music had faded into another song with a faster tempo. She looked up at him, her body fully against his, her eyes dark like a secret forest, promising him the tranquility he sought. This, this was what he’d needed, what he’d craved.
A man tapped him on the shoulder. “Mind if I take this dance?”
Rocco’s left hand flashed upward to grab the intruder’s Adam’s apple in an instantaneous reaction before realizing it was Bobby. Mandy straightened and pulled at his hand before he could close his fist and crush the son of a bitch’s windpipe.
“Rocco, stop. It’s only a dance.”
Rocco frowned down at her as he let the rodeo star go. “You want to dance with him?”
Rodeo didn’t give her a chance to answer. He took hold of her and moved her deeper onto the dance floor. Rocco folded his arms, standing where she had left him, glowering at the man who now held her. The couples had to move around him on the floor. A low buzz began in his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ivy leave their table and approach him. The movement of the dance brought Mandy and Rodeo past him as Ivy came even with him. Neither one looked at him as they danced by.
“What’s goin’ on, Rocco?” Ivy asked. He didn’t answer, just kept his eyes on Mandy. She followed his gaze. “Oh. Ooohhh! C’mon back to the table. He’ll bring her over when the dance ends.”
Rocco didn’t move.
“Would you like to dance with me?” Ivy offered.
Rocco did look at her then. He wondered when Kit had last seen her. She didn’t wear a wedding band. Would that please or torture his friend?
“I can’t dance with you.”
“Why?” she asked.
“It’s complicated.”
“Then come back to the table. If Bobby bothers Mandy, I promise I’ll kick his ass for you so that you don’t have to.”
“No you won’t. That pleasure will be all mine.”
She smiled at him, and he felt some of his disdain for her melt away. As they headed back to the table, he wished Kit were here, having this evening with her.
When the song ended, Rocco got out of the booth to let them in. Mandy’s cheeks were rosy, her eyes shining. Rocco hated that another man had given her that glow. Mandy scooted in next to him, pushing her body up against his, touching him from thigh to hip to shoulder. He looked down at her, trying to see if her closeness meant Bobby had insulted her in some way. She met his gaze and smiled, the look in her eyes meant for him alone.
The waitress came with their food, temporarily interrupting other treks to the dance floor. He took a couple of bites, mostly so that no one would make a big deal of his not eating. Officer Jerry and Rodeo were having a heated debate about baseball pitchers-a subject he couldn’t contribute to having been out of the country for so long. He hadn’t kept up with any of the teams or their star players. He pushed the food around on his plate until Mandy’s hand squeezed his thigh.
He looked at her. She was making a show of biting the food off her fork. She nodded toward his plate. He didn’t take the bait. Instead, he watched her chew, watched her swallow, waited for her to take another bite, all
the while remembering their first dinner together when she’d fed him. As soon as she realized what he was doing, a blush slowly stole up her neck. He grinned, pleased that the color was for him and not Rodeo.
“Hey, guys-I need to make a run to the lady’s room,” Ivy announced a short while later when everyone had finished eating. “Can I bother you to let me out?” Rocco scooted out of the booth with Mandy and Rodeo to let Ivy out. She grabbed hold of Mandy’s hand and pulled her along with her. Once inside the restroom she faced Mandy. “What are you doing here?”
“In the restroom? Or at Winchester’s? You wanted to meet Rocco, remember?”
“Yes. And God, he is sex on a stick. Why are you still here? That man can’t take his eyes off of you.”
Mandy shrugged. “It’s not what you think.”
“Yes, it is. Go home and get laid.”
“Ivy! You’re incorrigible!”
“No, I’m not. It’s been a long time since a man looked at me the way Rocco does you. Don’t waste that. You saw him stay on the dance floor after you went off with Bobby, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Mandy smiled. “He looked really angry.”
“He was really angry. You should put that energy to use-take him home and soil the sheets.”
Mandy sighed. “It won’t work. He doesn’t like to be touched. You saw he wouldn’t shake hands with anyone when we got here.”
“You’ve had your hands all over him tonight. He didn’t seem to mind.”
Mandy thought about that for a minute. “He didn’t, did he?”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t be wasting another minute here when I could be home alone with him.”
“I don’t know, Ivy. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”
Ivy squelched that argument. “Silly girl, it all still works the same.”
Rocco pulled the truck to a stop in front of the main house a short while later. Mandy gave him a smile, but did not move to get out. She’d had two beers-surely not enough to incapacitate her, was it? he wondered. By the time he came around to her side, she’d opened her door and had pivoted to sit with her boot heels braced on the door’s ledge. “Did you have fun tonight, Rocco?”
“I enjoyed our dance.” That had been the only thing he’d enjoyed. He wasn’t up on recent sports news and teams, so he couldn’t contribute to the guys’ conversations about baseball or basketball. The only politics he was familiar with were the bad decisions coming out of Kabul and policy fluctuations in Washington. He didn’t have plans for the summer, other than keeping Mandy safe and then going back for his son. He’d been a lousy addition to their party.
“I enjoyed that, too,” she agreed.
He reached for her waist, carefully lifting her so that she wouldn’t bump her head as he helped her from the truck. He didn’t release her. “I didn’t enjoy that bottom-feeder, Bobby.”
“He’s not a bottom-feeder. And we’re not seeing each other anymore. What about you? Is there a special girl waiting for you somewhere?”
Only Kadisha, who likely was waiting in hell for him. He dropped his hands and stepped back, setting a little space between them. He shook his head and shoved the truck door shut. “There’s no one.”
“How long has it been?” she asked in a voice that had gone low, husky. God, was he hearing her correctly? Was she asking what he thought she was asking?
“How long since when? Since I had a woman, or had one I wanted to have?”
“I didn’t think there was a difference.”
Kadisha had been expecting their second child. How long ago he’d been with her? He’d run out of excuses to avoid their marriage bed last summer. The women in the village were talking about his lack of interest in his wife. He’d been so focused on her father. Perhaps that had been his undoing. He’d made Kadisha love him, then cut her loose, thinking the ruse was in place. He’d never thought it needed care and feeding.
“There is when your life isn’t your own.”
Mandy stood in front of him in the bluish moonlight, waiting for a sign from him. His hand shook as he lifted it to her face. He’d touched her a few times tonight without repercussions. He knew he was pushing his luck, touching her one more time, but he was unable to deny himself the pleasure. He drew his fingers down her cheek, feeling the downy soft skin at the side of her face. He caught the stray strands of her hair and pushed them back with the others behind her head.
“Do you want me, Rocco?”
Jesus H. Christ, did he want her. It was as if she, alone, brought him the air he breathed. If he stepped away from her, he would suffocate. He forked his hand through her hair until he cupped the back of her head. He drew her closer to his body, close enough that he could feel her warmth, almost sense the percussion of her heartbeat in the air between them. He bent toward her, low enough to catch the breath from her parted lips against his mouth. He waited, hovering close, feeling the rhythm of her life force.
“I want you,” he whispered against her mouth. “I have since I first laid eyes on you.” He looked into her eyes, moving his head so that the moonlight fell across her face. Her eyes looked black. A trick of the light, no doubt. A trick he felt in his groin. Her hands touched his waist, then moved slowly, cautiously, up his chest. He was barely aware he and Mandy were moving in a slow rotation, circling each other, letting the light from the moon play against one, then the other, as if they danced to silent music that hummed between them.
Her hand moved up to his shoulder, across his collarbone, to his neck. A muscle in his jaw bunched as his dick responded to the feel of her palm against his skin. She caressed his jaw, his cheek, his temple.
“Your eyes are unbelievably sad, Rocco. Why?”
“Don’t ask me questions I can’t answer.”
“Make love to me.”
Words failed him. He could only nod.
“I’m going to change,” she said, smiling. “I’ll come right down.” She slipped free from his hold and trotted to her porch. Rocco made his way to the bunkhouse. He tossed his hat on the table.
It hit him then, the answer to the question he’d asked himself earlier.
Nine months. He’d last been with his wife nine months ago. A cold sweat dampened his arms and chest and face with its stink. Their second child would have been born this month.
“You did this. You killed us.”
He ripped at the buttons of his shirt, tearing it from him, checking his arms for the ghost flesh that he felt sticking to him as tears made hot tracks down his cheeks. He kicked his boots off and stripped out of his T-shirt, jeans, briefs, and socks, leaving them where they fell in the hallway to the bathroom. He flipped on the shower, feeling the burned flesh drying, shrinking, pulling at his skin. The smoke choking his lungs.
He lunged into the shower stall. Grabbing the soap, he fell to his knees, swiping the bar over his arms, building a thick, white lather to wash away the burned flesh. He reached for the washcloth and began scrubbing the dead skin from his arms, even as his mind gave in to the screams that had haunted him since that day.
Mandy took a quick shower, dried her hair, and pulled on a sexy babydoll. It was sheer white, with satin push-up cups and lacy briefs that matched. She’d bought it a couple of years earlier, but had never worn it-hadn’t even removed the tags until tonight. She started out of her bedroom, feeling very naked walking through the house in something so revealing. At the door, she paused. What if she stayed the night there? She couldn’t walk back to the house in the daylight dressed as she was.
She slipped into a pair of flip-flops, then grabbed her raincoat and shoved her arms through the sleeves as she hurried from her house down to the bunkhouse. She knocked on the door. No answer. She cracked it open and realized Rocco was taking a shower. She stepped inside, feeling suddenly very shy. She took her coat off and wandered into the bedroom that he used, wondering which was his bed. Neither of them looked as if they’d been used lately.
It seemed terribly bold waiting for him in
one of the bedrooms. She went back into the small living room. One of the armchairs had been pushed into a corner. She sat in it. His shotgun and a box of shells were on the floor next to it. That seemed odd, but she didn’t give it much thought. Sitting still seemed to highlight her nervousness so she went to stand in the shadows by the kitchen. That was best. She felt better standing up.
Still he showered. From her vantage point, she could see the clothes he’d stripped out of on his way to the bathroom. His space was otherwise very tidy. She smiled, imagining his haste to get showered before she came over.
The water kept running. Like before, when he’d taken that long, freezing cold shower. Something wasn’t right. She ventured down the hall and knocked on the bathroom door. No answer.
“Rocco? I’m here.” No answer.
She poked her head around the door, expecting a room full of steam. It was cold, like a grave. Rocco was in the shower, washing himself with a red washcloth. She pulled back, realizing he hadn’t heard her. No sooner had she shut the door than it dawned on her that she hadn’t provided any colored linens. The towels and sheets she’d stocked the bunkhouse with were all white.
She hurried into the bathroom, and pushed open the sliding shower door. “Oh, my God. Rocco stop!” Cold water lashed across her back as she reached inside and grabbed hold of Rocco’s hand, stilling the white terrycloth that was red with blood.
Chapter 9
Rocco looked at her with unfocused eyes. Mandy wasn’t certain he saw her.
“I have to get it off.”
“Get what off?”
“The blood. The skin. I have to get it off.”
“Rocco, you’re making yourself bleed. Come out of the shower. Let me look at what you’ve done.” She kept the cloth pressed to his forearm as she helped him to his feet and out of the stall. Lowering the lid on the toilet, she had him sit there. Kneeling before him, she prayed he hadn’t slashed his wrist as she peeked beneath the cloth. He hadn’t. The blood was from an abrasion farther up his forearm.
The Edge Of Courage Page 9
