Grady pushed his shovel into the gravel and leaned on the end of it, taking a second’s break to wipe the sweat from his eyes. In the week since that wrenching conversation with Laurel on Main Street, the balmy spring temperatures had rocketed straight into high summer heat, and the mercury had hovered around ninety for days.
It was funny how quickly things could change. One night a guy goes to sleep under a quilt to combat the evening chill, the next morning he’s sweating over his coffee as hot sun pours in through the windows.
One day you’re a soldier in the United States Army, part of a centuries-old brotherhood steeped in tradition and sacrifice. Then you flip the calendar past that date on your contract and suddenly you’re on your own, thrust into a world you haven’t known for years, and for the first time in over a decade no one’s got your back.
One minute you’re so close to loving someone, so close to finding what you never thought possible, so full of hope and gratitude and excitement for the future. And in the next you’re flailing, tumbling down a dark hole of disappointment and frustration, unsure whether you’ll ever make someone see what’s right in front of her face—or whether you’ve been imagining it all along.
He sighed as he replaced his grip on the shovel’s handle and got back to work. There was no point in moping—he hadn’t heard from her in a week, and this road wasn’t going to resurface itself. He needed to shove all that wounded speculation into the background and get on with the task at hand.
He’d barely gotten into a rhythm when the crew chief called his name and motioned for him to stop, and then beckoned him over to where he stood on the sidewalk.
“Lady here to see you.” He indicated a German sports car parked at the edge of the construction zone. Grady knew the vehicle instantly—he’d changed a tire on it what felt like a lifetime ago.
“Tell her she can call me later if she wants. I’m on the clock.”
“It’s no problem for you to pause for a minute to talk to her,” his boss told him with the nervous deference that characterized his interactions with the majority of his colleagues. “I won’t dock you. Take as long as you need.”
Grady rolled his eyes and stowed the shovel. There was no avoiding this conversation, apparently. Might as well get it over with.
What could she want from him? He ran through various scenarios as he picked his way through the site to her car. Had she left something at his house she wanted back? Did she need a contact at the fort and think he might know the right person? Was her mother’s Rotary chapter hosting a charity dinner for veterans, and she hoped he’d be willing to turn up in his dress uniform to give the event a little authenticity?
He knew for sure she wasn’t here to collapse into his arms, cry on his shoulder and pledge her undying love. He’d done too many bad things in this life to ever get that lucky.
Laurel stood up from the car as he reached the front end. Her dress dipped low on her full breasts, hugged her waist, caressed the flare of her hips. He wanted to tug loose the knotted strings at the small of her back and slowly pull away the turquoise cloth, to savor her like he did the single Christmas gift he’d received every year during his childhood, removing each layer of wrapping slowly and carefully, delaying the revelation of what was concealed inside until the last possible minute.
She watched him expectantly. He crossed his arms as if that could protect him from whatever further damage she was here to do to his heart.
“Do you want to sit in the car and talk? I can turn on the air-conditioning.”
“Why are you here?”
The optimism drained from her face. “Let’s sit there, then.” She gestured to a section of curb that was shaded by a tall tree. “It’s too hot to stand in the sun.”
“No shit, I’ve been shoveling asphalt since eight o’clock,” he muttered under his breath, but followed her to the side of the road and lowered himself beside her.
“How’ve you been?” There was an uncharacteristic lack of confidence in her tone, but he couldn’t decide whether that was a good sign or not. He decided to stick with exasperation.
“Can you get to the point? I’m at work, Laurel. Just because I’m outside and not in some fancy office doesn’t mean I can take time out whenever I feel like it.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I was driving by and I saw you and I thought this would be easier than it’s turning out.”
He peered at her with fresh curiosity. Her brow was furrowed, and she kept biting her bottom lip, like she was working up to saying something important. A tiny, double-crossing sliver of hope sliced through him. Had she changed her mind about them? Was she here to ask for a second chance?
“Blake called me this morning. He says you don’t want to take the fine. He says you want him to ask for incarceration instead.”
He shifted uncomfortably on the curb, stretching his legs out in front. “So much for client-counselor confidentiality, I guess.”
“He doesn’t want to see you do someone else’s time, Grady.” She put an urging hand on his knee. “And neither do I. Why won’t you take the fine? Better yet, why don’t you make Ethan pay it?”
He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, simultaneously trying to ignore the thrill he felt at her touch and control his hot irritation at her meddling.
“To be honest, I don’t see what business it is of yours. You don’t want to be with me—you told me outright. So what does it matter whether I’m at home or in jail? You won’t know the difference.”
Her face fell with such sorrow that it sparked an unexpected tenderness in him.
“I still care about you,” she said quietly. “Way more than I guess I should. I know I have no right to interfere, but I can’t bear the thought of you suffering through a prison sentence you don’t deserve.”
Every sensible nerve in his body shrieked at him to stand up and walk away from her once and for all, but then he’d never been a very sensible guy. As it so often did, his reckless side shouted louder. He took up Laurel’s hand from his knee and pressed it between his palms, relishing the soft delicacy of it, this hand that saved lives just as surely as his own had taken them.
“I can’t afford the fine,” he told her gently. “I’d have to go into debt to pay it. And I can’t keep working here—everyone’s afraid of me, and it’s only a matter of time until the crew chief finds a way to stick me somewhere on my own, filling hairline cracks by myself for eight hours a day. Ethan doesn’t know I have a choice, and if I have anything to do with it he won’t until it’s too late. I don’t want his money—this is about the principle. I had my fresh start when I left the army, and I screwed it up so fast my head’s still spinning. If I do the time, that gives this town a couple of months to forget about me. Then I come out of it debt-free and with a chance to try again from scratch.”
She stared down at their joined hands, slowly shaking her head. “That’s ridiculous. Being in debt and having to find a new job is nothing compared to spending months in prison.”
“I don’t know, I reckon I’ve been worse places. At least I won’t have to dig a hole to sleep in every night, and I think prison guards generally frown on shooting people with automatic weapons.”
“I’m being serious,” she chided. “Ripping yourself out of the world for weeks and weeks instead of paying off a loan or asking Ethan to pay it for you is probably the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard from your mouth.”
“You haven’t known me very long. I’ll say something dumber than that in no time at all, don’t you worry.”
“This isn’t a joke,” she retorted, furious indignation tightening her features. “This is your life, Grady.”
He turned to look at her fully then, taken aback by the sudden vehemence in her tone.
“If I didn’t know better, I might think you’re worried you’ll miss me. That you don’t want to go several months without me.”
A rosy flush crept up her cheeks. “It’s not that. I’m concerned about you, not me.”
Li
ar. Grady snatched his hand back. He’d run out of patience with this game, and it looked like she was still playing just as hard as when he’d last seen her.
“I appreciate you stopping by, but it was completely unnecessary. I’ve been running my life singlehandedly since I was a kid, and my decisions always work out fine in the end.”
She stared at him as if poised to speak, as if she wanted to get her words in exactly the right order before they were unleashed into the world. He sighed his irritation, shifting on the curb to signal the end of his interest in this conversation. If she came to him again, but with clear eyes and an honest willingness to face up to what he’d said about her being afraid, he would listen. Otherwise he was done.
He’d nearly worked up the resolve to tell her as much when her lower lip began to tremble and her big, blue eyes welled with tears. Grady’s heart dropped into his feet. In all his years of steadfast soldiering, nothing brought him to his knees like a woman crying.
“Hey, don’t start that,” he coaxed, reaching to pull her into his side, but she jerked out of his grasp and shot to her feet. He hauled himself up after her, and she took a decisive step backward.
“Fine, then do it,” she spat, her whole body shaking with an emotion that seemed to sit somewhere between distraught sobbing and vehement rage. “Let a few nervous glances and monthly debt repayments scare you into hiding. Drop out of the race you’ve spent thirteen years training for before you’ve finished the first lap. Who cares if you’re leaving behind people who already care about you so much that just the idea of you sitting in a cell brings them to tears? After all, relationships are temporary—isn’t that what you said?”
“That’s exactly what I said,” he shot back hotly as all the disappointment and frustration and sorrow at her rejection welled up and flooded through him with fresh intensity. “And it only took you a couple of hours to prove my point, sneaking out of my house like a thief and feeding me some line about different futures. Turns out you were mostly right on that point, but don’t blame me that your all-knowing prediction didn’t include the inside of the county jail.”
“You’re a selfish bastard,” she hissed. “You’re a no-account, good-for-nothing piece of—”
He gripped her upper arms, impulse curling his fingers and pushing him forward. “That’s it,” he urged. “Hate me. Despise me. Shove me out of your life and forget you ever met me. It’ll make this easier for us both, I promise.”
Her eyes rounded as her lips parted in shock. He sensed her resolve falter, felt her ridiculous, futile affection for him flicker back to life, and he tightened his grip on her arms, resisting the urge to shake some sense into her.
“Please,” he begged, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Just walk away.”
“Like everyone else always has,” she murmured, her eyes never leaving his. Her posture eased beneath his hands, her expression softened, she raised her fingers to his cheek—
He thrust her away from him with a disgusted sigh and turned his back, closing his eyes in a desperate attempt to calm the bewildered anguish squalling inside him. Why couldn’t she leave him flat, like everyone else in his life? Why did she insist on seeking him out time and time again, on pretending he was something more than he was, more than he could ever be? Why was she so intent on pushing him out of his safe little shadow and into the brilliant glare of the sun, only to leave him there to burn?
Goddammit, why couldn’t she just love him the way he loved her?
His shoulders stiffened as he heard Laurel shift behind him. He couldn’t bear it if she touched him—he didn’t even trust himself to look at her.
“I’m taking the time,” he told her coldly, making the decision then and there. “You didn’t want to be part of my life, so you don’t get to be part of my choice. Now leave me alone. I don’t want to see you again.”
Her shaky intake of breath signaled her hesitation, her vacillation about whether or not to speak, whether or not to do as he said. Every muscle in his body froze as he waited for her response, his spine stiffening with resolve against the frantic longing clanging in his brain.
Ask me to wait for you while you work overseas. Say I’m the man you want to come home to. Tell me you want me—tell me you love me.
Laurel exhaled. He heard her turn and walk away—he heard the car door slam, the engine rumble to life. He stayed rooted to the spot as the sound of her vehicle faded into the distance, feeling like his heart was tethered to its retreating bumper. In less than a minute she was gone, leaving nothing behind but the big, sucking wound in the center of his chest.
He picked up his shovel and got back to work.
Chapter Eleven
“So after two years in Chiapas I decided I couldn’t endure another tapeworm or case of head lice, and I came back to Philadelphia. That was only nine months ago, and I’m already itching to jump on this next posting.”
Laurel stared wide-eyed at her office phone as she listened to the disembodied voice ringing out of it. She’d been so excited about this conference call that she’d dialed in early and spent ten minutes listening to soft rock pour through the speaker, but as each of her future colleagues took their turns detailing their medical-aid experience, the inclination to hang up and pretend she hadn’t heard a word grew increasingly strong.
“Fantastic, thanks, Dr. Lind,” said the moderator, a program coordinator for the charity. “Next let’s hear from Dr. Laurel Hayes.”
She cleared her throat and hovered over the speaker. “Hi everyone, I’m Laurel, and I’m an orthopedic surgeon based in Meridian, Kansas. We have a large army post a couple of miles down the road, and I take several shifts a week at the hospital there, so my experience is mainly comprised of combat-related orthopedic injuries and long-term injury management. It’s a common misconception that these kinds of traumas primarily affect the extremities, because in fact—”
“And can you tell us a little about your overseas experience?”
“This is my first posting, actually. But I spent a semester abroad in Paris, and I’ve been to—”
“Okay, great, thanks, Dr. Hayes. Let’s move on to Dr. Louisa Yates in Connecticut.”
Laurel sighed and punched the button to mute her own line, so she could keep listening in without being heard. Dr. Yates was detailing the three years she’d spent running a field hospital in Indonesia, and with each passing second Laurel felt more and more like a minnow in a lake full of swordfish.
Lowering the volume on her phone, she leaned forward over her desk to squint at the itinerary on the computer screen. The departure date was in seven weeks’ time, and the trip involved three flights: Kansas City to Chicago, Chicago to London, and finally London to Entebbe, Uganda. The return leg was three months later.
All the details were correct—she knew they were, because she’d rechecked them at least five times. She’d also reread the e-mail from the charity until she could recite it from memory, spent hours trawling the Web for information on the poverty-stricken region where she’d be working, and bought every remotely related travel guide she could find in the local bookstore.
There was nothing left to do but roll her cursor to the bottom of the airline’s website and hit Buy.
Instead she flopped back in her chair with a sigh and crossed her arms. She spun to face the window, but she didn’t see the bright midday sun pouring through the panes, or the endless blue sky, or the flowering dogwood tree across the street. She didn’t see the thrilling opportunity ahead, the joy of helping people with minimal access to medical care, or the excitement of finally embarking on the adventure she’d imagined for years.
She only saw Grady.
She saw the big, powerful hands capable of the most tender caresses. The bottomless dark eyes brimming with untold secrets. The embrace that was warmer than a tropical climate, safer than an armored Humvee, more grounding and rewarding and wholly fulfilling than any limb-saving surgery she’d ever performed.
And in less than an
hour he’d be lost to her, to this town, to the whole world for up to two years.
“Not my problem,” she announced to the empty office and swiveled back to her computer. He’d made his choice, and so had she. She would live out her dream of practicing medicine overseas, and he would rot in the county jail. She’d flit from one famine- and war-torn country to the next, and he’d settle on the porch with a beer after a long day spent hanging drywall. Every day she’d wake up to excitement and change and brand-new challenges, and he’d still be here, in her hometown, with her family and her friends and the life she’d always known, his mouth lifting in that slow smile, his shoulders strong and square, his gaze steady, his arms—his hands—
“Dammit,” Laurel whispered, swiping at the tears spilling down her cheeks. The call moderator was talking about mosquito nets and sleeping bags and solar-powered iPod chargers, and suddenly she was sobbing, overcome with despair and regret at what felt like the biggest mistake of her life. She had an instant, intense conviction that she’d taken a wrong turn, but now she was hurtling down this road so fast and with such momentum it was too late to stop, too late to do anything but ride it out and hope she was still in one piece when she bounced to a halt at the other end.
Her life, her family, the love of a good man—she’d thrown it all away for some absurd fantasy of the plucky, rugged action-movie heroine she only now realized she could never be. She wasn’t that strong or that resilient or anywhere near that brave. Grady was right. She was a total coward.
No. The word thundered in her mind with the resonance of a summer rainstorm. That was not what he meant.
Laurel’s head snapped up as their exchange on Main Street flashed in her memory. What was it he’d said, his posture tight and his eyes flashing?
The biggest thing standing in your way is you.
She bolted up from her chair, sending it rolling across the thinly carpeted floor as comprehension struck her like a full-palmed slap. Grady had seen straight through the wander-lusting, hometown-escaping smokescreen to her most vulnerable core, the part of her that wanted contentment and stability, the woman who couldn’t admit to herself that she was perfectly happy right where she was.
Boots on the Ground: Homefront, Book 1 Page 9
