“Here you go,” he said, and dropped the tablets into her palm. She looked half-awake, and Beau understood—shock made people sleep a lot. Sleep was the antidote to working shock out of their systems. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, handing her the glass of water.
Callie softly thanked him, took the tablets, and handed him the half-empty glass of water. “What were you doing over there?”
Beau set the glass on the nightstand. “Matt was over at HQ and brought the laptop and our mission intel to me. I’m working on that right now. Are you hungry? Anything sound good to you for dinner tonight?”
Making a face, she muttered, “I’m not hungry yet. I’m still waking up.”
“Maybe a cup of fresh, hot coffee? I just made some for myself.”
“That would be nice,” she said, giving him a grateful look.
He eased off the bed. “Okay, come join me in the kitchen and we’ll look through what’s in the fridge, and I’ll put something together for us.”
Callie nodded, immediately missing him as Beau casually sauntered across the room to the kitchen. He was being so solicitous to her, and she’d done nothing to deserve it. He seemed immune to what had happened to them last night. How could that be? Was he really that different from other men? Was it military training that made that difference? Even though he had a bullet hole through his calf and a bruise on his chest where another bullet had struck his Kevlar vest, could he really feel like nothing had happened to him, to them?
Shaking her head, she threw off the cover and scooted over to the edge of the bed. Bathroom first. Cold water on face afterward. She felt drugged, unable to wake up and be alert. What was wrong with her?
Beau gathered up all the reports and put them in files, setting the laptop on the coffee table. He felt a lot of confusion from Callie, saw the yearning in her eyes for him. But at the same time, he saw that she was dealing with the assault and the images of men dying around her, on top of her. Her focus was probably not going to be on him. Or them. If there was a “them.”
If only he could be with her in Montana. He could be the one person who could listen to her without interrupting her. Her feelings were deep and dark, and that worried him. People who went through this kind of horror, as he well knew from his time in Afghanistan, often didn’t emerge from its grip. Would Callie be one of those casualties? How many women had seen a man’s head come apart because of a bullet while he sat on her?
Was there a possibility that they could still have a relationship? Beau wanted that more than he wanted to breathe. He feared that when Callie went home to people who loved her, they wouldn’t be able to help her as much as he would because only he knew the depth of her wounding. He had been there. A part of it.
The wounds of war never depended on what people had done—only on who was left to remember them. And the memories for him, and for Callie, were as bitter as any he’d ever known.
CHAPTER 16
Beau stood near Callie at the fixed-wing terminal the next morning. The sky was overcast, and it was definitely going to rain. He had already taken her luggage to the Kuwait Airways luggage cart a few minutes earlier. A hundred other civilian contractors, mostly men, were in the Operations area, waiting to board too. He saw Matt with his arm around Dara’s shoulders, off to one side. Trying not to envy their intimacy, Beau focused on absorbing every second of Callie’s final minutes with him.
He wanted so badly to tell her he loved her. Last night, after making her dinner, she had been so exhausted, she’d almost passed out, and he’d slept on the couch, a blanket tossed over him. She had not asked him to join her in bed, and that had cleaved his heart wide open. Beau reminded himself that she was most likely remembering his abandoning her. That or feeling guilty as hell about endangering both their lives.
He knew that Callie had been tired, and he could tell she was emotionally up-and-down, so it wasn’t the right time to discuss anything important, even though she was leaving the next morning. Beau might not ever see her again.
Sadness gripped his heart as he took her in, loving every inch of her. She had turned away, watching the airline’s boarding ramp being pushed up to the middle door of the awaiting airplane. Now Callie looked desolate, grief-stricken. Her sad green eyes were almost lifeless, and her beautiful mouth was set tight. Beau was sure her broken arm was acting up, too. He knew there were all kinds of pain Callie was wrestling with, from physical to psychological to emotional.
She had closed up on him last night after dinner, and he wasn’t sure why, but he felt as if Callie had left him. Sure, she was still in the same room with him, but it felt as if the light she always carried so brightly within her had been snuffed out.
He didn’t want to believe that. She had been such a sunbeam in everyone’s lives before the ambush and assault. Now she was a shell of her former self.
This morning, he’d helped her with her hair. She’d wanted it plaited into one long red braid after she’d gotten her shower. It was a special pleasure for Beau to sit on the bed, brushing her thick, silky red hair. They’d even laughed a little, and Beau ached to lean over and kiss the soft nape of her neck, and then make love to her. But Callie was treating him as a dear friend, not a lover, so right now, he’d settle for that.
He wondered if, after she boarded that plane for home, she’d forget him. To remember him would be to recall the experience that had robbed her of so much. He let himself sink into despair, seeing a future without the auburn-haired pixie who had stolen his heart.
Callie had worn her black wool pantsuit with a bright green tee beneath the blazer. He’d tied off her braid with a green ribbon of the same color. With her small gold earrings and a little makeup to hide her pallor, she looked almost the way she had that first night. Right now, that night seemed like a dream to Beau.
The doors of Ops opened up and a female flight attendant called them to come and board the flight. Out of the corner of his eye, Beau saw Dara lean up and give Matt a passionate kiss good-bye. He wanted to kiss Callie, and she turned to him, reaching out, her left hand meeting his. She slipped a piece of paper into his hand.
“This is my email address,” she said. “Just in case you feel like letting me know how you’re doing.”
Beau’s heart leaped as he opened up the paper, memorizing her email address. “Yes, I will,” he said, his throat tightening with a multitude of emotions he couldn’t show her. The soft strands of hair around her face only made her that much more beautiful to Beau. God, he wanted to kiss her! There was such confusion and darkness and yearning in Callie’s eyes as she looked earnestly up at him. Was there a pleading quality deep behind her request?
She looked like a beautiful bird among the mostly dully dressed male population, walking out between the doors toward the airliner.
To hell with it. Beau wasn’t going to let Callie go without kissing her. He reached out, sliding his arm around her waist, drawing her close to him. If she didn’t want that kiss, she’d let him know right now. Hope lit up her sad green eyes, and her hand came to rest against his chest.
“I’m here for you, Callie,” he growled, leaning down, capturing her lips, wanting to tell her through his kiss just how damned much he loved her. To his relief, Beau got no resistance from her; instead, as he slanted his mouth against hers, he heard a whimper catch in her throat and felt her fingers dig into his shirt. She was warm, wet, her lips hungry and eager against his. Callie couldn’t press herself against him because of the sling she wore, so he held her lightly, his hand floating against the small of her back, aching to love her.
Beau didn’t want that kiss to end, but he heard other people leaving Ops for the plane and knew he had to release her, let her go. Easing his mouth from hers, he stared intently into her half-closed eyes. Now he saw a faint sheen of gold in them. She’d had gold flecks in her eyes before the ambush, he suddenly recalled, and heartened, he smiled a little unsurely and released her, touching her cheek briefly with his fingers.
“I’ll be in touch, Callie. I promise. I’m here for you if you need me. Never be afraid to email me about anything, okay?” Beau knew she would need to talk to someone who understood the anguish she was experiencing. Whether it was him or someone else remained to be seen.
She smiled brokenly as she stepped away from him, picking up her purse. “I will be in touch, Beau. Thank you,” she said, her voice choked. Her eyes suddenly moistened, and she blinked the tears away. Reaching out, she grazed his bearded jaw. “Thank you for saving my life … I’m so, so sorry I disappointed you …”
What the hell? He opened his mouth to protest, but Callie was already gone, walking quickly toward the opened Ops doors. Where did she get the idea he was disappointed with her? Confusion made him stand there paralyzed for a moment, not sure what to do. Run after her? Stop her? Ask what she meant by that crazy statement?
Eventually, Beau let it go. He wasn’t sure what Callie was thinking, but it was erroneous as hell. He’d never told her he was disappointed in her. He never would.
She was in emotional shock, traumatized, and maybe not thinking clearly. Still, Beau rubbed his chest where his heart lay, because her words had hurt him deeply.
He joined Matt at the windows, watching the Kuwaiti airliner slowly trundle out to the ten-thousand-foot runway. A light, misting rain was beginning, the clouds low and gray. Beau felt as if his heart had been torn out of his chest. He wanted to be on that plane with Callie, not watching her leave him behind.
Matt turned to him. “How are you doing, bro?”
“I’ve had better days,” Beau muttered, afraid to trust himself to say more.
“Yeah. Me, too,” Matt agreed grimly.
Beau met his group leader’s gaze. “At least you’re going home in two weeks and you’ll be with Dara.”
“And I am so looking forward to it,” Matt said, his voice thick with feelings. Glancing over at Beau, he said, “I’m sorry our captain decided to keep you here at the base.”
Shrugging, Beau said, “I guess I’m stuck creating missions.” He watched the jet anchor at the end of the runway. So many emotions tore through him and he swallowed hard, sitting on them. After the jet took off, he watched it until it disappeared into the gray clouds. Then Matt clapped him on the shoulder.
“Come on, we’ve both got work waiting for us at HQ.”
*
Three days later, Beau received an email from Callie. He was nervous but excited to read it as he opened up his personal email inbox on the HQ’s computer. The last three days had been pure hell for him. Matt was already bringing the team together for another mission in two days, and he was stuck back at Bagram. His leg was slowly healing, so he was hobbling around the office like a three-legged horse.
Beau’s disposition wasn’t as even-keeled and charitable as it had been, and he frequently lost his temper. That just wasn’t like him. If not for Matt pulling him aside and listening to him, he felt as if half of him had left the station the morning Callie had walked out of his life.
Now there was an email from her. Eagerly, he read:
Hi, Beau. I’m home. It was a grueling flight, and I didn’t realize just how sensitive I was to everything. Dara traded seats with me on the flight because guys would walk up and down that narrow aisle and brush against me sometimes. I couldn’t handle it. It was a stupid reaction, but I couldn’t deal with it. Thank God Dara was there. I felt safer, more secure, in that middle seat. There was a woman civilian contractor in the window seat, so that was good. It’s only men who scare me, and I understand why, but I still feel threatened.
The Seattle airport was large and noisy. Going through customs, people were crowding around me, everyone in a hurry, wanting to get home. I felt as if I were crawling out of my skin. I wanted to scream. I wanted quiet. I couldn’t handle all the chatting, the noise, the pushing, and the bustling about. By the time we got out of there, I was an emotional wreck. Dara took me to a women’s bathroom and I stayed in there to get away from it all for a while. That break helped me get my act together.
I felt so stupid, so weak, Beau. It’s as if my skin has been turned inside out, and I’m so raw and emotionally volatile. I was never so glad to get off a flight as I was in Butte, Montana. Seeing my whole family waiting for me was like coming to you, walking into your arms. I had a feeling of safety, and of being loved.
My parents are worried about me. I can’t talk about what happened yet. I know they want to understand, but not yet. My grandparents, thank goodness, aren’t pressing me about it, and it’s easier being around them. Grandpa Graham is a lot like you: he asks me lots of questions. And he’s okay if I don’t completely answer them. He’s so wise and I feel so safe around him.
How are you? How’s your leg doing? Is it on the mend? What’s the weather like there? I just talked to Dara yesterday evening and she’s so excited that Matt will be home in less than two weeks. She deserves to be happy. Is there going to be a USO show for you guys at Bagram?
Have you heard from your family? How are they doing? I’m sure they’re sad you can’t be home for Christmas.
The weather here is picture-postcard beautiful. I took ten photos with Grandpa’s Canon digital camera and he helped me convert them into small JPEGs for you. I took photos of the ranch that I’d like to share with you. Please let me know how you are? Be truthful about it. Don’t tell me you’re ‘okay.’”
Beau, I miss you terribly. I’m sure you don’t miss me because I was such a pain in the ass, but I have to once again thank you for saving my life, giving me my life back, and I’ll always be grateful to you, Beau.
Big hugs,
Callie
It felt as if someone were carving up his heart with a dull steak knife. Beau printed a copy of it and then saw the ten photos Callie had sent along. He scanned them rapidly, hoping there was one of her among them. There was! His heart hammered as he looked at the photo of her with her grandparents, standing together against a pipe-rail fence. On either side of them were horses with friendly looks on their alert, shaggy faces.
But Beau’s gaze stayed focused on Callie. She was in a red knit cap, her hair loose and free around her white parka. Grandma Maisy was on her right and Grandpa Graham on her left. Between them, how pale and strained Callie looked.
Beau’s mouth tightened. He missed no details, not in his line of business, because missing a detail could get you killed. The darkness in Callie’s green eyes scared him. She was trying to smile but couldn’t quite carry it off. Her arm was still in a sling.
Now he had no doubt—he needed to be with Callie. Would she ask him to come visit her? Would she hint in that direction or give him a clue as to whether he was welcome or not? Or had she gotten as close as she could to asking for him to walk back into her life by saying she missed him desperately? Women talked in code, that was for damned sure. He was a man of action, and it was painful to do nothing.
Beau turned away to answer the emails from his own family. He decided to hold off on answering Callie’s email for a bit. He was never spontaneous about important decisions, and he wanted to read it more carefully.
*
Graham McKinley watched his granddaughter cleaning out one of the oak box stalls in the horse barn. He stayed out of her line of vision. It was a wintery midafternoon, and he’d been in the house earlier when he’d heard a muted scream from behind Callie’s bedroom door down the hall. And then, minutes later, she’d hurried down the hall in her winter gear, racing out the porch door and following the shoveled snow trail that lead to the horse barns.
His wife, Maisy, was in the office at the other end of their huge, three-story home. She wouldn’t have heard Callie’s scream. From the day she’d come home, Graham had known that his granddaughter was still suffering from her experience in Afghanistan. She’d been home five days now, and every day, she had worsened, it seemed. No matter what the family did, it didn’t help her. What would?
It hurt Graham to hear his granddaughter crying when she thoug
ht no one else was around, hiding out in the stables to get the privacy she needed. She couldn’t use her right hand yet, but Callie was creative. Holding the pitchfork beneath her left arm, she could lean down in the stall, slide it along the concrete floor, and scoop up a bunch of straw and horse poop. She would then walk it out to where she had a large wheelbarrow nearby. The gray horse that had been in there, Ghost, her favorite thoroughbred mixed quarter horse, was standing quietly in cross ties, watching her.
Something had to be done to help Callie. Graham eased from his position in the shadows and quietly walked down the aisle in her direction. Ghost nickered a hello and Callie looked up. She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve, straightening after dumping the load of manure and straw into the wheelbarrow.
“Grandpa! What are you doing out here?”
He smiled a little, picking up another pitchfork hanging on a wall hook. “Might ask you the same thing, Callie. Want some help cleaning Ghost’s stall?”
“Well …” Her voice faltered, and she gave him an embarrassed look. “Sure … I guess …”
“Come on,” he said gruffly, sliding his arm around her shoulders and giving her a gentle squeeze. “Let me help you.” Her eyes were dark with the pain she carried within her. Callie had never asked for help; she and Dara had grown up independent and self-confident. This was a side of Callie he’d never seen.
“O-okay …”
For the next fifteen minutes, they silently worked together. Callie was still crying and sniffing. Graham knew his granddaughter well: she was a stubborn little thing, and until she was ready to reveal what she was carrying inside, no one could pull it out of her.
Her nose was red and her eyes were red-rimmed. They worked quietly together, and pretty soon, the stall was cleared. Graham brought over a fresh bale of wheat straw and threw it into the stall. Then he pulled out his Buck knife and cut the twine around the ninety-pound bale. Callie helped him spread it all around, a nice mattress for Ghost, who would appreciate the fresh, clean-smelling straw. The barn had fifteen box stalls, and every one of them needed to be cleaned every other day.
Hold On (Delos Series Book 5) Page 21
