by Jodie Bailey
But soon she’d move on with her life. And when she did, it might be the thing that finally broke him.
Sinking to his knees, he rested his head on the edge of the sofa. Lord, what is it You want me to do? For the first time, he was silent, not simply crying out but listening, really listening. His own thoughts were too loud for him to hear if God had anything to say.
With an ache in his chest, Travis acknowledged the truth. He still loved Casey. Had never stopped loving her. For months, he’d lied to himself, afraid of the fear he felt every time he thought of the future, focused on a goal driven by another man’s death.
Loving her didn’t change what he had to do, didn’t change the fact his future couldn’t include her.
Dropping his head to the sofa by her hand, he prayed. For her to be happy. For himself when he left her. For Deacon...
A soft sound jolted him with a start. Somehow, impossibly, he’d fallen asleep with his head on the couch and his knees bent beneath him. Shaking his head, Travis eased away from the couch to keep from waking Casey and checked his watch. After three. It had been a long time since he’d slept in such a crazy position, and his knees protested as he stood with his head cocked to the side, listening.
Maybe he’d imagined it.
Travis scrubbed his hands down the sides of his face, wide awake. Falling asleep now would be impossible, unless he checked outside first to be sure.
Edging across the room to keep the floor from creaking, he stood close to the back door, hand on the knob, listening. The sound came again, a slight knock and a soft scrape, not from where he stood, but from the front of the house.
Muscles tensing for a possible fight, Travis crossed the kitchen and into the den, shutting the door between the two rooms softly behind him and cloaking the room in darkness. It was likely an animal or the wind, and the last thing Casey needed was to be startled awake by him creeping around the house. It was easy to tell from the dark circles and the lines around her eyes she hadn’t had much sleep lately, probably lying awake at night same as he did.
Backlit by the soft glow from the pole light in the side yard, a shadow crossed in front of the sheer curtains of the window beside the front door.
Someone was outside. Travis stiffened, hot anger coursing through him. Keeping close to the wall to conceal his movements as much possible, he skirted the room and stopped at the front window, lifting the curtain enough to get a clear view of the porch.
A man, dressed in jeans and a familiar dark hoodie, stood at the top of the porch steps, eyeing the front door and bouncing on his toes as though he were debating the best way to get through it.
Well, Travis would make it easy for him. In one swift motion, he turned the dead bolt and jerked the door open.
The man twitched and stumbled backward, teetering on the top step of the low porch.
Travis needed nothing more. Crouching low, he hurled himself at the would-be intruder, driving his shoulder into the man’s stomach and throwing him to the ground on his back with a thud.
The other man’s body cushioned the fall, but the awkward angle sent Travis to the side. He rolled onto his shoulder and rose to one knee as his opponent scrambled backward, hood dropping and exposing his face to the light from the yard lamp.
Recognition blew an image through his mind, but the memory was fleeting, slipping through his grasp. Somehow, from somewhere, he knew this guy. Not in passing, but he had spoken to him. The when and where eluded him, and as the man backed farther away, white-hot anger surged in Travis. It didn’t matter who he was; he’d come after Casey. There was a price to pay.
Both men got to their feet at the same time, sizing each other up. Travis scanned his face, trying to remember, looking for a vulnerability.
The other guy telegraphed his next move. His eyes slid to Travis’s jaw as his right shoulder drew back.
With a slight smile, Travis threw out his arm and blocked the blow, the missed punch giving Travis time to land a punch of his own, square in the jaw, driving his opponent backward.
They faced off again, but this time, without warning, the man swung around with his foot and caught Travis in the shoulder, knocking him backward into the porch post, driving the air from his lungs so hard he saw stars.
It was the advantage the other man needed. He was gone around the corner of the house before Travis could recover.
Fighting for air, Travis gave chase, but the man disappeared into the woods. A few seconds later, the sound of a car drifted over from the road.
Travis smacked his palm against the porch railing. He should have been more vigilant. Should never have fallen asleep on the job. He’d left Casey vulnerable, and he’d nearly let whoever the almost-familiar man was get the upper hand.
This was why he had to shelve his feelings. Because until this was all over, he couldn’t let himself lose the edge he needed to keep Casey alive.
TWELVE
Casey held her breath for a beat, the muggy scent of an early Carolina near dawn perfumed with dew and damp leaves. She let her eyes slip closed, exhaling slowly and reveling in the soft air on her arms. Fitting the notch of the arrow into the bowstring, she raised it as one with her great-grandfather’s bow. Engaging the muscles in her back, she drew the string until it touched the corner of her mouth and ignored the twinge in her shoulder. She sighted the target tacked to a hay bale across the clearing and slackened the hold in her fingers, letting the arrow fly, not releasing her stance until the arrow pierced the target slightly to the left of center.
Lowering the bow, she evaluated her aim, reset another arrow and shot again, this time landing closer to the bull’s-eye.
A smile tipped her mouth and, for the first time in days, she truly believed the world wasn’t fully evil. This was where she felt the most at peace. This was what her mind had been aching for since she’d first spotted Travis in the restaurant. The one thing she was good at. The one thing that never let her down. This quiet moment before the day started, with her bow and her God.
Of course, this peace couldn’t last long. She’d retrieved the old bow from the storage room and slipped out of the house early this morning, tiptoeing around the kitchen table where Travis slept with his head resting on one sprawled arm, dead to the world from exhaustion.
After he walked out last night, leaving his pain hanging in the air, she’d determined to wait for him but had succumbed to the kind of sleep she hadn’t had in days. Home did this to her. And learning even a shadow of his truth and opening herself to her own had left a peace inside her she hadn’t even known she was seeking.
Now, in a clearing in the trees at the back of the yard, she found the one place she knew she’d be able to grab a little bit of solitude, even if it was short-lived. Sooner or later, she’d have to return to a world flying apart.
It felt as if she had been in continuous contact with people for weeks, tugged in fifteen different directions. Not even left alone to sleep in her own apartment, dragged away from civilization on a whim... Sure, it had been only a few days, but the pressure bore down and left her wanting to burrow into a hole, not be forced into socialization.
She needed time alone to process the cascade of information and emotions that had poured over her the past few days. Needed everybody to stop hovering over her.
Well, all of it stopped tonight. Tonight, she returned to her own apartment, danger or not. She was tired of running.
And after work, she’d go to the hospital to see Deacon one more time. Casey had debated what to say, but since the bomb he’d dropped Saturday afternoon, she’d felt some sense of responsibility, even though she couldn’t quite say why. They’d talked at length over the course of several interviews about his recovery, the organizations that had helped him, the friend who’d offered advice and a listening ear... Deacon had been determined to stay clean, so what had ha
ppened to send him off the rails so far he’d overdosed?
Bracing her hand on the split-rail fence, Casey lifted her face toward heaven and sought the One who always listened, praying for Deacon and Gwen, for Travis, for John’s family, for the horror to end right now so life could return to normal.
And she prayed for her heart not to break when Travis left for selection. He was focused on his career and scared of any kind of outside commitment. Even though he’d been close the past few days and had opened up the slightest bit to her last night, he wasn’t going to deviate from his path and she wouldn’t ask him to. Lord, please. Take away what I’m feeling for him.
When no relief came, she fitted yet another arrow, drew back, sighted and let fly, a little more of the tension she held in her aching shoulders releasing into the arrow as it slammed the target.
Dead center.
Bull’s-eye.
The full-blown grin on her face faded when a low whistle floated from behind her.
Casey whirled, heart racing.
Stupid. She’d come out here alone knowing someone was on the prowl and now she’d have to face whoever had followed her without anyone to back her up.
The intruder standing near the house was a greater danger than anyone who might be targeting them. Travis stood about thirty feet away, leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed for the duty day, his uniform making him appear taller and broader than usual.
Something twinged in her chest, and it was not a thing she’d call good. Lord, we just talked about this. Just. Talked. About. This. Wasn’t there a verse somewhere in the Bible about not being tempted beyond what she could bear?
Travis tipped his head toward the target, looking past her. “Nice shot. You’ve gotten better since the last time we were out here.”
We. Like they’d planned this outing together this morning. Well, they hadn’t, and he could leave now, before she said something she shouldn’t.
Instead, Travis straightened and strode closer, his bearing tall, his attitude sure.
Man, she needed to quit noticing him. Every time they were together, he drew her in more. Casey couldn’t look away from him as he came closer, and it was a fight to ignore the way her stomach fluttered and tugged at a heart still raw from realizing how she really felt.
He stopped mere inches away, the smell of soap mingling with the morning breeze, a strong reminder of all the times she’d been next to him in the past, when they’d talked, when he’d held her close, when he’d kissed her.
She let her eyes drift to his lips, where they lingered for a tantalizing breath before she planted them squarely on the rank on his chest.
Yeah, that was the past. He’d moved on.
She needed to.
“You should have let me know you were coming out here.” Travis stopped himself and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his uniform pants. “I guess you needed a break, huh?”
Casey’s eyebrows drew together. She held the bow low at her side and backed away enough to breathe without inhaling the scent that would always be his alone. “The walls were closing in.” Her words held a tone of challenge she didn’t feel, but really, she was daring him to do something to push her away. Or daring him to finish what he’d started last night and pull her to him. She wasn’t sure which.
“Freaked me out a little bit when I woke up and you were gone.” His voice dipped, husky and intimate. “But I knew exactly where you’d be.” He reached out and ran his fingers down the bow at her side, a slight smile softening his features. “Your great-grandfather’s. You tried to teach me and I was miserable at it.”
The words washed over her like a warm blanket, easing the tension in her shoulders but tightening something in her abdomen, something she hadn’t felt since the first time he’d kissed her. Anticipation, excitement...
Her breath caught in her throat. No. No. No. She didn’t need this. He was here because he felt some twisted need to protect her. Nothing more. In a week, he’d be gone, off to selection, moving forward with his career and leaving her behind with feelings he could never return.
But standing here in front of him, she couldn’t turn away. All she felt was hope. Stupid, peace-destroying hope that he’d look at her again and see how much she loved him, and maybe he still loved her, too. More likely hope would crush her when he walked away.
She had to say something to break whatever this moment was layering between them. Casey lifted her chin and looked over his shoulder toward the house. “You could have called me from the porch. I’d have heard you.”
He didn’t turn his attention from her. Even though she wasn’t looking directly at him, Casey could tell he was still watching her.
“I didn’t want to disturb you and, I guess...” He sidestepped to stand next to her, his shoulder warm against hers as he stared at the target.
What a perfect picture for what their relationship had been, side by side, facing two different directions.
He sniffed and stood taller. “I wanted to give you your space. But then I saw you... I don’t know, there’s something about watching you do what you love. I didn’t want to interrupt when I might not get the chance to see you doing this ever again.”
Her pulse jumped. He’d wanted to see her outside of everything happening between them, but he wasn’t hanging around. He never would.
“Case, I knew you needed to get away this morning. And I know part of the reason you’re stressed is...me.” Something deep in his voice tore at her.
The words jolted through her. He couldn’t know. He could never know. “You have a pretty high opinion of yourself, don’t you? I mean, John’s dead, Deacon’s in the hospital, somebody tried to—”
He turned toward her, his chest grazing her shoulder as his fingers brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and stopped her words. “I get it. All of it. Maybe what I should have said was I’m stressed about you. I passed out sitting at the table last night because every night before it has been a wreck because all I can think about is...”
You.
That couldn’t be what he was about to say. Her pulse galloped, the hope she’d tried to quench flaming into life. If he didn’t stop now, she’d tell him everything she’d come to realize.
And once again, Travis Heath would make a fool of her when he told her he didn’t feel the same.
* * *
Something in Casey’s expression shifted, and she turned away from him. “Travis, don’t.”
He exhaled loudly, dropping his hand to his side with a dull thud. Somehow, he was wrecking this and he didn’t know how to fix it. Everything inside him wanted to tell her what he’d realized last night. He loved her. He needed her. But he couldn’t. Not when he was about to walk away from her. And definitely not when he’d been so focused on her that he’d let a man nearly sneak right past him.
Then fallen into a dead sleep as dawn peeked over the horizon. Sleep brought on by too many nights lying awake and thinking about Casey Jordan. Still, he had to tell her something.
“I needed to say that what I did, walking away from you... It was wrong. And it wasn’t even what I really wanted.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know for sure anymore what I want except not to hurt you.”
Casey turned and went toe-to-toe with him, letting her gaze drill into his. “Well, you failed. It hurts.”
He flinched. “I’m sorry.”
Casey’s jaw slackened, her eyes widening. Clearly, she’d been expecting anything else.
He’d said it. He’d apologized. So why didn’t he feel any better?
Because I’m sorry was only the thing he wanted to say. What he wanted to do was entirely different.
Casey was so close, Travis could smell the apple in her shampoo and almost count the brown flecks
in her gray eyes. Somehow it felt as if shielding her from the bad around them would protect him, too. Like it would make the darkness creeping in on him fade into the corners of the world.
Casey Jordan made him a better man. Beside her, he felt taller. He felt capable, like he could overcome all the things he’d seen overseas, even the blood and the death he’d never really, on a deep level, talked to anyone about, not even her.
On the night Travis had left Casey, Phil had said he was better off without her, and healing would be easier on both of them. In this moment, Travis knew Phil was wrong. Because since he’d walked away three months ago, his whole life had skewed, and the black of his memories crept ever closer, threatening to swallow him.
Her eyes never left his, and he knew the intensity of his thoughts showed on his face. That was probably why she was staring at him, frozen, as though she were trapped in whatever he was thinking right along with him.
His gaze roamed from her eyes, to her lips, to the small scar she’d gotten when she’d released a bow string too close to her cheek and sliced the delicate skin. It was her lone imperfection.
Lifting his hand, he traced the scar with his thumb, wishing he could take away the hurt he’d caused, needing a way to tell her his thoughts but not quite able to say what had slapped him senseless as he’d watched her sleep last night. Since he’d seen her in the restaurant with John, and Deacon had fired the cryptic warning he’d kept from Casey, his feelings for her had grown stronger until they threatened to swamp him.
Casey swallowed hard and her breath caught in her throat, her lips moving as if she were going to say something but couldn’t.
He couldn’t resist her anymore. He slipped his palm against her cheek and eased along the soft skin of her neck into her hair, pulling her near, pressing his forehead against hers, close enough for her breath to brush his lips. He’d never thought he’d be this close to her again. For one precious second, he hovered in heart-stopping anticipation.
There was no more fight left. Travis brushed a whisper of a kiss across the scar on her cheek, then sought her lips and found them, letting go of everything in his entire world but the woman before him.
