by Jodie Bailey
Casey willed her mind to stop racing. The guy had made Travis antsy at the coffee shop on Friday, but he seemed friendly enough, with a smile that reached his dark eyes and an easy way of speaking, as though he’d known her forever. “No. A mutual friend. Travis is with him now.” She relaxed enough to offer him a smile in return. “I see you got somebody to doctor your hands.”
“What?” Confusion skated across his face, then he glanced at his fingers, which rested on his knees. “Oh. Yeah. Meredith insisted. I thought it made me look tough. She thought it looked like a recipe for infection.” He leaned closer as though he was going to share some deep secret. “I can tell you from working here and from being married to her... Whether they take care of people or pets, all doctors are the same.”
Casey grinned. “You’re a doctor, as well?”
“No way. I can’t handle blood. I spend my time in a classroom teaching people about nutrition or addiction or whatever else they ask me to teach to the staff or the community. It’s a lot quieter and a lot less messy.” He glanced at his watch, then scanned the hallway. “So, when we met on Friday, you said you work for Public Affairs?”
“I do.” As inane as the conversation was, it was exactly what Casey needed. “Like any other job, it has good days and bad, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t trade it.”
“Sounds like you’re pretty happy then.” Phil propped his ankle on his knee and watched the nurses at their station. The silence was comfortable, if a little long, before he spoke again. “You said you were going back to a previous story?”
Talking to strangers about her work had always been hard. Until a story was finished, it always felt like there was some vague chance it wouldn’t work out the way she wanted, so she kept it close to the vest. “Working on a follow-up to some things from a few months ago, looking at a drug story from a different angle. The usual.”
“Hmm.” A shadow flickered across his face. He settled both feet flat on the floor and scooted forward in the chair as though he were about to stand. “It’s been a long couple of days around here, and I’m guessing it’s been even longer for you if the way you were half-asleep when I walked up is any indication. Got a coffeemaker in my office if you want something a little stronger than the cafeteria serves. And if you’re looking for a place to crash for a little while, there’s a couch and a blanket. I’m headed out so all you’d need to do is lock the door when you leave. It’s a lot quieter there than it is here.”
Casey flicked a glance toward Deacon’s room. As worn out as she felt, the offer was tempting, but Travis would worry if he came out and she was nowhere to be found.
Following her gaze, Phil leaned closer. “I’ll tell the nurses to let Travis know where you are, if you’re afraid he’ll be worried.”
Enticed by the idea of a few moments of actual alone time, Casey started to agree, but Travis came out of Deacon’s room and caught her eye. Even from a distance, she could read the question on his face when he caught sight of Phil.
He was beside her so fast Casey almost didn’t have time to blink. His arm slipped around her waist in a way that said back off. “Phil. Working late?”
Casey wanted to pull away from him, but the warmth of his arm around her was exactly what she’d been longing for. She felt safer than she had in days, confident Travis would never let anything happen to her.
Later, when he wasn’t touching her, she could lecture him about the fact he had no right to act like a jealous boyfriend. For now, she sank against him and let herself pretend he really did have the right to warn another man away from her, not caring how bad it would hurt when he eventually walked away again.
Phil glanced toward the elevator. “I saw Casey sitting there, so I thought I’d see if she needed anything.”
“We’re leaving.” Travis’s arm around Casey tightened. “See you.” With a pressure at her waist, he urged Casey past Phil and up the hall to the elevator.
The doors had closed behind them before he dropped his arm, leaving Casey to abandon her illusions.
It cut, exactly the way she’d known it would. The pain left her angry at both of them. “What was that all about?”
Sinking against the wall, Travis shoved his hands in his pockets, looking as though he’d expected her outburst all along. “I know. It was rude. It was territorial. Got it.”
“If you’ve ‘got it,’ then why did you do it?”
He lifted his head, the glint in his eye hard, warning her she better not argue. “Because I’ve got to get you somewhere out of the way. The sooner, the better.”
ELEVEN
“Unless Deacon said something bordering on insane, I think you’re overreacting.”
When Travis didn’t answer, Casey clamped down on her lower lip. She’d been asking for half an hour, and he’d been silent.
Twisting the key in the lock of the old farmhouse, Casey shoved her shoulder against wood swollen with late-summer humidity. The door burst into the kitchen, practically dumping her in a sprawl across the cracked linoleum flooring. The sweet, musty smell of a house closed for too long greeted her, the air hot and heavy. With practiced aim, she found the light switch with one swipe, illuminating the old kitchen.
It looked the same as it had a month ago, when she’d driven out to check on the property for her parents. The same as it had when her great-grandfather passed away six years earlier. Antique kitchen utensils hung from the white walls. The ancient harvest gold appliances sat in place, while the familiar metal-and-Formica kitchen table held court in the middle of the room. The sagging leather couch where she’d taken many an afternoon nap covered by a brown-and-orange crocheted afghan waited against the wall under the window. This was home, pure and simple. Sure, it could use some TLC, but every time she walked through the door, she expected to see Greepaw limping in from the den, arms wide for a hug.
Behind her, Travis shut the door, leaned against the wood and gave a low whistle. “It looks like it did the last time we were out here.”
He could have said anything else. Casey did her best not to look at him as she crossed the kitchen. If his expression indicated regret, it would be so much worse than if he showed no emotion at all. In the small, dark-paneled den, Casey let her feet sink into the shag carpeting and slid the thermostat lower. Thankfully, Greepaw had given in back in the ’80s and let her parents install central heat and air.
Air-conditioning sure couldn’t do anything to make Travis’s comment more comfortable. The last time they’d been out here, talk had run to the future. They’d sat on the green chenille couch in the den and talked until dawn about what they’d do to improve the place if she bought it from her parents. He’d caught her vision of replica 1950s’ appliances in the kitchen and white vinyl siding over the faded exterior.
She’d been into the house twice since then, both times at her parents’ request. When she came to Gray’s Creek now, it was to the woods clearing where her great-grandfather had taught her how to raise a bow and sight down the arrow to hit the target. But to the house? No. The place bore Travis’s mark. She’d absorbed his thoughts about the house and made them hers, could see him here with her. Those thoughts hazed over happier memories from her childhood.
When she came into the kitchen, Travis hadn’t left the doorway. Somewhere in his mind, he was bound to be remembering the times he’d visited the house with her. If he wasn’t, he was heartless.
She dropped to the creaking couch and stared at the table, not quite ready to look him in the eye. “Travis, why are we here? Wasn’t Kristin’s house enough so-called safety? What did Deacon say to make you speak rudely to a friend then drag me out here in the middle of the night?”
“Believe me, Phil’s no friend.” His voice was bitter as he shoved away from the door and dropped the bag holding the remains of their drive-through dinner on the table.
Casey ha
zarded a glance at his face. His blue eyes were tired, deep lines etching around them. He looked more haggard than she’d ever seen him. It was more than weariness. There was a pain there that had haunted him since he’d blown into her life.
Her blood felt as though it slowed in her veins. Something was wrong, and it was more than what had happened behind a closed hospital door. “Talk to me.”
He stared at the bold flowered curtains covering the window above her. “Deacon told me to stop digging and I should get you somewhere safe.”
Not what she’d expected to hear. At all. “He knows more than he’s saying.”
“A lot more.”
Frustration gnawed at her. Frustration with Deacon for holding out on them, with herself for being out of control, and with Travis for...everything. “Well, great, but we can’t stay out here indefinitely. We have work tomorrow. For the army. They aren’t going to take ‘my ex thinks I’m in danger’ as an excuse for my not showing up. You already took Friday afternoon off at the last minute, and your chain of command will ask questions if you pull a stunt like that again. It’s not like we can call in sick, you know.”
“I know.” He snapped off the words, then winced. “Sorry.” Dragging his hands down his face, he dropped to the couch beside her. “Give me this much. Tonight, we stay out here. I’ve got a uniform in the truck, and I’ll take you home in the morning and follow you to work.”
“You’re going to tail me everywhere?”
“If I have to.”
The no-nonsense tone sent the best kind of shivers along her arms, the same kind she’d felt the last time they were out here. Four words, but they spoke of more. Protection. Safety. Comfort.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. He hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. She was overly tired and emotional, and he was still the same Travis, focused on the job. Soon, he’d be gone to a unit that would take him away anywhere in the world at any time he was needed. She wouldn’t ask him to give up his dream. But for tonight, she’d stop fighting his need to play protector. Having him near dulled the edges of her fear and helped her to feel less vulnerable.
Easing into the corner, she tucked her feet underneath her and rested her head on the back of the couch, searching for a neutral subject. “You ought to know nothing’s going to change here. This house will look the same until Mom decides she can let it go. The house has been in the family for generations. She’s having a hard time.”
“So you haven’t admitted you want to buy it from her.” The comment was intimate, the reminder of conversations past, of how well they’d once known each other.
“No.” Casey poked her pinkie through a hole in the afghan and stared at her fingernail. She’d wanted the house since Greepaw died, long before she’d met Travis. But he’d visited the house with her on so many occasions... Now she could hardly stand to walk through the door.
Sitting with him, in the silence broken by the low hum of the air conditioner, was already tying her stomach in knots with a potent blend of longing and fear. She was too tired to fight. She nestled deeper into the couch and stifled a yawn. “Tell me about Phil.”
“Not much to tell.”
“Liar.” She said the word gently, taking away some of the sting.
His mouth quirked, but he kept his focus on the sink across the kitchen. “He was a friend. Once. Kind of guy who had a good ear when you had a problem.”
“What happened?”
“I went to him for help one night, and he offered me a beer to take the edge off.”
Wrinkling her eyebrows, Casey lifted her head. He’d likely meant it to be an offhand comment, but his tone held a weight running counter to the simplicity of his words. “You don’t drink.” At least not that she’d ever seen. “There’s a reason, isn’t there?”
He nodded once and shifted, running his hands down his legs and digging his fingers into his thighs the way he always did when wrestling with something inside. She’d seen the quirk more than once when they were dating and even more over the past few days as the pressure increased.
This time, though, there was a sadness saying this was more than what they were enduring together. Her heart went to him, wondering what could have worked its way into his soul so deeply.
Without caring what her actions might hint, only knowing he needed someone to be alongside him, she shifted in her seat and laid her head on his shoulder, sliding her hand down his arm to lace her fingers through his. Deep inside, she had to admit it wasn’t only for him. She needed him, too.
Travis stiffened as though he were going to pull away, but then his fingers curled around hers and he relaxed, sitting for a long time before he spoke again. “I lost a buddy overseas. He died right in front of me.”
The plain words, spoken so evenly, knifed Casey’s heart. This was the thing. This was what brought unexplained sadness to his demeanor, a haunted look that had come over him at odd times. She’d always suspected he was holding something away from her, but she’d never imagined what it might be. “I’m sorry.”
“He was a good guy. Good husband. Good dad. A better guy than I was.” His fingers tightened around hers. “It should have been me.”
Casey tugged her hand from his, his sadness seeping into her. No matter what had happened between them, life without him was unimaginable. Reaching for him, she laid her palms on his cheeks and turned his face toward her. “Don’t.”
His eyes met hers with a blue fire that stole her breath and saw straight into her soul, burning away the lies she’d been telling herself. With a clarity Casey couldn’t deny, she knew. As hard as she’d tried, she hadn’t been able to rip him from her heart. As much as it wasn’t good for her, she still loved him. More today than the day he’d walked out of her apartment for the last time.
With a gasp, she dropped her hands and turned away from the intensity of his gaze, trying to will her body into a normal rhythm. This couldn’t happen.
Besides, this wasn’t about her. As much as she wanted to make it so, it wasn’t. This was all about him. Her focus had to be on his needs, since he was finally baring his soul. “It shouldn’t have been you.” She wanted to take his hand again but didn’t dare.
Travis was quiet so long she wondered if he’d somehow passed out from exhaustion in the middle of his story, but then he drew a deep breath and searched her face, his gaze tracing to her lips then up again before he looked away. “I need to check the house. Make sure everything’s secure.” Without any further explanation, he stood and yanked open the door, disappearing into the night.
* * *
He owed Casey an apology. Stowing his Maglite under the seat of his truck, he slammed the door and stared at the light filtering through the curtains at the kitchen window. He shouldn’t have launched into a story he knew she’d never understand and he’d never finish.
And she never should have looked at him the way she had, her hands soft on his face, expression intense with something he couldn’t read. Shock, maybe. Fear. Or something else... Something way too close to the way she’d looked at him when they’d sat in this very house and first talked about the future they might have. A future he’d known all along he couldn’t give her. But he’d allowed himself to dream with her, of what it might be like to stay in the job he loved and to marry the woman who’d captured him at the first hello. That night, he’d felt closer to being whole than ever before, experiencing a settled happiness that he still liked to revisit on nights when he couldn’t sleep, to remind himself that there was some good still in this world, even if he couldn’t actually have it in his life.
It had been wrong of him then, and bringing her here had been wrong of him tonight, even though it was the only place he could think of to hide her. The moment he’d faced her and seen the compassion in her expression, he’d wanted to kiss her. To take in the part of her that was alive and joyful, the p
art that made him forget how fleeting everything was.
So he’d fled. All he’d wanted was a few hours in a place where no one would think to look for them. It was true they’d both have to return to work tomorrow, so this safety was all an illusion, but it was an illusion he’d thought he needed.
Turned out, illusions could be dangerous.
He’d spent half an hour in the rapidly cooling night, pacing around the house before he was satisfied they were safe and he felt like he could face her and give her the truth he should have given her months ago. His life was not his own. It was a penance paid for another man’s death. Resigned to confessing everything, he trudged up the creaking wood steps and shoved open the door, braced for her questions.
Instead, Casey lay stretched out on the old leather sofa, one hand tucked under her cheek, sound asleep. With her face peaceful, away from the stress of the past few days and the pain he’d caused her, he could almost imagine this was how she’d looked as a child, sleeping here while her great-grandfather worked in the yard or puttered around the house.
He could tell from the way she’d acted when they walked in the door that her thoughts had drifted to the same place as his. Being here brought the bittersweet ache for what they might have had in this very house.
As lightly as he could, he crossed the creaking floor and slipped the afghan from the back of the sofa, crouching to lay the covering gently across her. His arms ached for the what-might-have-been of the moment.
The realization rocked him on his heels. He still wanted Casey for the rest of his life. Whether it was right or not. Whether it fit with what he knew he had to do or not, he still wanted to belong to her for the rest of his days. The longing overrode everything else until it was all he could think about.
