by Rachel Lee
“I don’t know,” he said finally.
“Neither do I, really. But sometimes I understand why people freeze eggs and sperm. Other times...” She shook her head. “Other times it’s not an issue. It just bubbles up every now and then.”
He nodded but didn’t respond.
She sat there for a while, nibbling on her chicken, giving him space to eat, thinking about her reaction as opposed to his. Very different responses to what was, for her, a purely emotional question. She was still wondering why she had brought it up. Except...except... A thought struck her and she spoke it before she thought it through.
“Maybe I feel like a failure for not doing that one thing for Chet.”
He stopped eating, his green eyes fixing on her. “Not doing...oh.” He found his way back to the earlier conversation. “Chet didn’t feel like you failed him in any way. I’m pretty damn sure of that. We spent a lot of years together in some tough places. We talked. He never had a complaint about you. Not even a little one.”
That lightened her heart more than a little bit.
“I’m sorry,” he volunteered, “that you didn’t have more time together.”
She drew a deep breath, not quite a sigh. “I’ve been getting used to it, Liam. Getting used to the fact that life doesn’t make any promises to anyone. We all take the same chances. That was maybe the hardest part at first, feeling it wasn’t fair. Life just isn’t fair.”
“No, it’s not.”
He probably knew that as well as anyone. She resisted reaching out to him across the table. “Well,” she said brightly, “time to think about goats.”
His brow lifted. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
One corner of his mouth crooked upward. “Chet had me working with goats in Afghanistan a few times.”
“Then you can help me.”
For an instant, something like distress passed over his face. “I can remember,” he reminded her, “but maybe not in a way that’s useful.”
“You remembered how to paint. Anyway, we’ll learn together.”
“I guess you’re determined.”
“I need to reclaim some part of myself.” She needed to get on with her life. She’d been thinking that right before Liam arrived and for some reason, it seemed more important now. Something inside her was trying to break free and breathe again. Maybe this was the wrong way to go about it, but she needed to start somewhere.
“I guess I’ll look at that pen out near the barn and make sure it’ll hold up,” she announced. “I need to know that before I do anything else.”
“Okay. I’ll try to help.”
After they washed up the dishes, they went out into the long evening to take a look at the pen. As they approached the barn, Sharon noticed the smell of the fresh primer and commented on it. “That’s a good smell after all this time. Usually when I come out this way, all I smell is musty wood.”
“It smells pretty musty inside, too. Maybe I should clean it out.”
“One thing at a time.” She was feeling cheerful all of a sudden. The idea of having some goats to look after and enjoy really appealed to her. She ought to get a dog, too, now that she thought about it. Time to reconnect with life.
The evening had reached that wonderful point when the air had calmed, the light had dimmed and taken away the harshness, and the temperature had started to fall.
“It’s beautiful tonight,” she said in a burst of exuberance.
“Yes.”
She looked at him and caught him smiling at her. The expression, so unguarded, was contagious and she grinned back. “I’m glad,” she admitted, “to be alive.”
His smile faded a bit and she could only imagine what he must be thinking or remembering. Maybe she had been thoughtless in her remark?
But then he surprised her. “So am I.” He sounded as if he meant it.
Well, good. “Anyway, it’s about time I started looking forward again. There’s too many years left to waste.”
“Or maybe there’s no years at all.”
His words caught her between one breath and the next and she missed a step. God, he was so blunt sometimes, but he was also right. Nobody was guaranteed to be around tomorrow. And that trite truism struck her as incredibly profound all of a sudden.
“Live in the moment?” she asked.
“I seem to remember learning how to do that a long time ago. And lately that’s pretty much all I seem to be able to do.”
“Maybe that’s smart in the long run.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s necessary.”
“True. But I think I’ve been missing too many moments by living in the past and fearing the future.”
“I can understand that.”
She supposed he could. They reached the pen that Chet had put up during his last leave: metal poles and chain link. “Chet built this,” she said. “He said it was for animals to be determined later. I think goats would be nice.”
“Why goats?”
She looked at him. “Because I like them. They’re smart, cute and much more impish than sheep.”
“You want impish?”
“It’ll be entertaining. What do you remember about the goats you’d worked with?”
“That you had to be a damn good goatherd with a damn good dog or two. They seemed to have a lot of curiosity in them.”
“That was my impression. I suppose I could ask Ransom, though.”
“He raises them, too?”
“Mostly it’s sheep but he has some goats that he claims are more like pets. Maybe that’s what I’ve been thinking about, the way he talks about them.”
“Good to go to the expert.” He looked out over the large penned area. “There’s a lot of bushy stuff in there.”
“Is that bad?”
“Not for goats.”
She almost laughed. Evidently, he remembered something about the care and feeding of them. “Well, the pen looks like it’s held up, anyway. I don’t need to do anything immediately.”
She started to walk around the large enclosure. “I guess I have a lot to learn before I go ahead with this.” She pushed on posts to make sure they were still firmly planted, and scanned the chain link for any breaks.
He didn’t say anything as he walked with her but she found some comfort in his silent company. She’d been alone for so damn long, she realized. Even her time with Chet had been rare, and while she’d filled her days with other things, the loneliness had remained.
“Did you know you can feel lonely even when you’re busy and have a lot of friends simply because someone you love is gone?”
“I don’t have much experience. Never had time for anything that wasn’t casual.”
“Well, you can. I spent a lot of time being lonely when I was married. I accepted it, but I never got used to it.”
“I’m sorry. Chet missed you all the time, too.”
“He told me. I sometimes wonder about it.”
“Why?”
“Because we actually spent so little time together overall. His absence was far more usual than his presence. You’d think you’d get used to it just because it was normal. Maybe it’s just me.”
He didn’t answer, but what could he say? And why was she wandering this particular path? “I guess I’m still sorting things out.”
“I think we spend our lives doing that.”
“True.” She wasn’t watching her feet closely enough, and she stepped into a hole. A cry of surprise escaped her as she started to tumble forward.
Then powerful arms seized her, keeping her upright, and the next thing she knew, she leaned against a rock-hard chest.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
No, she wasn’t okay. Everything she�
�d been trying not to notice about him, everything she’d been trying not to feel, came rushing in a dizzying wave to her consciousness. She wanted him. Hell, maybe she needed him. Maybe any man would have done after all this time, but she wasn’t going to deal with that now.
Now, right now, being pressed against a man’s hard, warm chest, wrapped in strong arms, surrounded by his scents, was an aphrodisiac beyond compare. Her body reacted and her mind shut down as every cell within her reminded her that she was a woman and she had needs.
Her nose pressed into him and she had the strongest urge to just burrow in. Instead, she tilted her head back and looked up at him.
He looked straight at her, and everything in his gaze reflected the longing she was feeling. She held perfectly still, afraid of shattering the welder’s arc of desire that was burning in her as it had not burned in so long.
How could she have forgotten this yearning, an ache so deep and so hard, it hurt? How could she have forgotten the magic of hanging suspended in an instant out of time, breathless with anticipation, on a knife edge of hope? How could she have forgotten how easy it could be to beg?
But before the words oh, please could escape her on a whisper of breath, his head lowered and his lips met hers.
Warm, firm lips, tentative as if he expected rejection. She wanted no part of that, not now. Sliding her hands up his arms, she gripped his shoulders, needing him even closer. She didn’t want light, feathery touches, or seduction. She wanted hard and fast and basic before something, anything, intervened. Before a sensible thought had a chance to pop up.
Here, now, on the ground in the gloaming...just now.
Whatever he thought he’d forgotten, he hadn’t forgotten how to interpret a woman’s moves. The pressure of her grip on his shoulders caused him to kiss her harder, his tongue sliding over the crease of her lips demanding entry. She was only too happy to provide it.
The world washed away in a rising tide of physical sensations that seemed to clamp her in a vise. The hunger was almost painful, and each movement of his tongue stroking hers caused a spasm between her legs. Had she ever risen so far so fast?
Did it matter? She knew she was racing toward a pinnacle from little more than a kiss. But she wanted more, so much more. She wanted to feel his hands on her everywhere, his mouth in places that hadn’t been kissed in a long, long time. She wanted to rediscover the joy of being a woman and she wanted him to take her there.
A groan escaped him. His arms tightened. Yes!
Then, so fast she nearly stumbled, he let go of her. She forced her eyes open, and saw him looking at her with horror. Horror?
He swore. Then he turned and walked away from her, from the house, and into the deepening night.
What the hell had just happened?
Chapter Seven
Liam stomped off over bare ground, toward distant trees and mountains, spewing every cuss word he knew and maybe even inventing some. How would he know? They tripped off his tongue easily enough so maybe he had just forgotten he knew them.
What he hadn’t forgotten was that Sharon was Chet’s wife. Widow. What he hadn’t forgotten was that he was broken in some important ways and she deserved better. Far better.
“God, Chet,” he muttered into the deepening night, “don’t hate me, man.”
Unfortunately, he didn’t think Chet would hate him. So there went that excuse.
He dropped down finally to sit cross-legged in the grass. He could hear a stream’s liquid voice nearby but couldn’t see it. Closing his eyes, he remembered the nights when he and Chet had sat together in the mountains of Afghanistan, in the dark, talking quietly while keeping watch. Often they had been sitting back-to-back, night-vision goggles giving them a view of the surrounding country, sometimes mountains, sometimes farmland. They were forward posts, partly a net of protection for their fellow soldiers, partly intelligence gathering. Always he and Chet were instantly alert at any movement or unusual sound. At night, sound could carry far.
But they talked, too. Very quietly, in short bursts before returning to silent observation.
“I kissed your wife, Chet. You know that, don’t you?”
She’s been alone a long time, buddy. I never wanted that for her.
No, Chet hadn’t wanted that for her. He’d even felt guilty about it from time to time. Liam could remember those conversations, him trying to buck up Chet by reminding him Sharon knew she was marrying a soldier.
“But it feels different when you’re living it,” Chet had argued right back. “I married a woman, a good woman, and then I left her alone.”
“Duty’s a bitch,” Liam had replied.
It was. Always. He remembered that much for sure. But he remembered the other times, too, and sitting there in the dark by a stream he couldn’t see, he recalled one of them. He wondered if somehow Chet had known that one of those days he was going home in a box.
“I want her to get over me, Liam, if something happens. I want her to move on and have a happy life. I’d never forgive myself if she didn’t.”
Liam had tried to prod him out of those thoughts. Thoughts he superstitiously felt could be dangerous. They hadn’t happened often, but they’d happened.
“Cut it out, Chet. You’re gonna go home and have six kids, and I won’t visit because they’ll drive me crazy.”
Chet had laughed. “Not six. Just two.”
Now, not even two. He recalled the conversation earlier with Sharon and realized what she’d been trying to say: there were wounds for everyone because of the war. Many different kinds of wounds.
“Dumb ass,” he said aloud. The night didn’t argue with the assessment. How could he have gone on about genes and names? That wasn’t the point. Having a piece of Chet was the point.
It’s okay that you kissed her, he seemed to hear Chet say. Just don’t toy with her.
“I got nothing to offer her, Chet. I’m a wreck.”
Depends on who’s looking.
“Damn it,” he said to the strengthening breeze. “You always were an optimist.”
The stream seemed to laugh. Just as Chet would have laughed.
“It’s not funny.” Although he supposed it was in a way. Had Chet come home he’d have carried a lot of baggage. War did that to a man. Nobody came home unchanged. So they were all broken, one way or another. Question was, as he had imagined Chet saying, “who was looking.”
He sighed, resting his elbows on his knees and opening his eyes. He liked it here. He was having a whole lot less trouble overall with anger and frustration, though it sometimes rolled through him like an unexpected afternoon thunderstorm. He knew a big part of the peace he found here was the quiet. The steady rhythm of work, the few people. He still had trouble being around lots of people. He’d felt it at the diner. Almost like it had become too much stimulation. And he liked being on this ranch, liked the physical labor.
Then there was Sharon. Just as he had about decided that he might never learn to get along with people again, he’d arrived here and found Sharon. She occasionally got annoyed with him, but it blew over, and she didn’t seem in any hurry to give him his marching orders, even though he’d been living in expectation of it.
He was still full of rough edges, temper and moodiness. He still sometimes said things he shouldn’t. Occasionally, he wasn’t even sure he was making sense. But she seemed to find sense in him even when they disagreed, or he said some stupid thing like that business about genes and family names. Even when he didn’t get it, she didn’t act as if he wasn’t smart enough; she just explained it differently.
He didn’t feel on edge around her anymore, and he wasn’t constantly worrying about saying or doing the wrong thing. She had given him space to be whatever he was.
That was something he was still trying to figure out for himself. The rehab people had
tried to make him feel like he had a whole world out here waiting for him, that he’d find his way and a good life. It had sounded good, but he’d known damn well they were ushering him out the door, having figured they’d gotten him as far as they could. Washing their hands of him. Maybe because they had to, maybe because they really couldn’t do any more, and there were so many vets in need of them. Still, given all the deficits they’d warned him about, he’d felt something like trash swept to the curb.
Especially with no one and nothing to turn to. He didn’t blame his sister anymore, but she was all he had. His parents were long since dead. His buddies, those who were left, had either moved on with their own lives or were still dashing around the globe in uniform. He couldn’t just turn up on one of their doorsteps looking for a haven while he sorted himself out.
So he’d hit the road on his mission to deliver the letter that just kept burning a hole in his head and heart. At least he’d had a point and destination, but he’d figured he was going to be up the creek once he delivered that letter.
Wandering, rudderless, unable to even read the packages of food he was buying.
It wasn’t self-pity. God knew they’d spent enough time making him aware of what was wrong so that he could be prepared when it slapped him in the face.
But beyond getting that letter to Sharon, the future had been one great big blank.
All of this thinking was giving him a headache. It struck him that he was just trying to avoid the core issue, anyway: his attraction to Sharon. God, he wanted that woman. And even if Chet didn’t mind, and even if that whole conversation had played out in his imagination, that injunction remained a good one: don’t toy with her.
Wherever those words had come from, he needed to heed them. Good advice. Watch your step, Liam.
All of a sudden, Sharon’s face floated before his mind’s eye, and he remembered how she had looked when he’d abruptly let go of her.
Hell and damnation. He had some fences to mend, though he couldn’t imagine how. Maybe he just needed to go back and take his medicine. By now she probably had plenty of things she wanted to say about the way he’d acted.
