by Fiona Lowe
“Thank you.”
She sounded grateful, which was both a surprise and a relief to him, and he felt it gave him permission to ask questions. “If you loved the army so much, why did you leave?”
“I got married.” The flat and emotionless words hung in the air around them.
“Wow.” It slipped out on a puff of amazement that she’d trusted a guy enough to marry him.
“Wow, indeed.” She made an odd sound in her throat, which was half laugh, half anguish. “It still surprises me, but I met Tim overseas, and life in a war zone is surreal.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Don’t,” she said harshly. “Not even the worst imaginings come close to the reality.”
“Noted.” He slid his fingers in between hers, wanting to connect with her in a way she’d accept. “And I’m guessing you’re not married now?”
“No.” She blew out a long sigh. “Like I said, we were in a war zone, and on some level we probably thought committing to marriage would cheat death.”
He flinched again. Without a shadow of a doubt, marriage was something he knew he wanted in his life. He’d always thought there’d be nothing better than publicly declaring his love for a woman, sharing his life with her and having a family. He’d never viewed it in terms of cheating death.
“That’s . . .” Interesting? Crazy? Understandable? Sad.
If Tara noticed that his voice had trailed off, she didn’t comment. She seemed lost in her memories and still needing to tell them. “Tim’s proposal was unexpected, but I took it as a sign we’d work, because not one of the six guys my mother introduced into my life had ever married her. Not even my father.”
She seemed to give herself a shake. “Anyway, after two tours of duty and one tour of Tim’s infidelity, I divorced him. It was never going to be final for me unless I took an honorable discharge.”
The burning pain turned to an ache, which spread through him. Every person she’d tried to love had let her down, and she’d not only lost her marriage and her trust in people, she’d lost the support of the army—the only family she’d really known.
The ache morphed into a slow burn of rage, and he wanted to take down every person who’d ever hurt her. He turned his head to look at her. “So you joined a new family in law enforcement?”
Her brow furrowed as if she didn’t understand. “It was a skills match. I’m good at my job, Ethan.”
“I don’t doubt it.” It was the one thing in her life she had a hope of being able to control.
They lay there with a wide space between them and their hands loosely connected. He kept replaying the conversation in his mind, rolling her words over in his head, trying to make sense of them.
You grew up very differently from me. You see things very differently from me.
He was a basically happy person. He had a positive outlook on life, and he knew that came from the dumb luck of his conception to parents who were positive and happy, too. Parents who’d given him opportunities Tara had never had. He wanted to share that outlook with her, show her the good stuff, and more than anything he wanted to see her happy.
He wanted to see her beautiful face light up with that joy again, but how did he make that happen with a woman who didn’t trust and who took the first excuse to keep him at arm’s length?
Sex won’t do it.
As much as he’d love to work the magic he knew he was capable of if given the chance, as much as he wanted to watch her body suffuse with color and joy as she came, her bitter comment about sex carried a warning as loud as an emergency siren. Trying anything overtly sexual with Tara, even risking a kiss, would only give her an excuse to flee. He was determined to avoid that at all costs.
He swallowed an ironic laugh as a thought crossed his mind. If he took all those years he’d spent at high school and college being overlooked by beautiful women he’d lusted after and combined it with the discipline of Tae Kwon Do, he had the perfect training for this very situation.
He could hide his desire for her from her. Hell, he’d been doing it for almost a month already, so he could keep it going. He’d say and do nothing to even hint at how he felt until the day she gave him a sign that she felt the same way about him as he did about her.
Or not. He was used to the or not scenario, but he also knew that the key to any chance of success with Tara, of her trusting him and sharing his life, was friendship. That had to come first, but would she even accept his friendship?
She trusted you enough to tell you her story.
The thought steadied him and gave him hope. With it came an idea.
REGRET swamped Tara in suffocating waves as Ethan’s silence rolled on. Millie was wrong. Talking didn’t make things easier; it just made them worse. She should never have told him about her life in the trailer park—at worst it sexualized her in a way she never wanted men to think of her, and at best, it made people uncomfortable. It certainly highlighted their very different life experiences. She should have just hidden behind her failed marriage, because it made the other stuff look sanitized. Everyone had an experience of cheating, didn’t they?
She sat up abruptly, pulling her hand out of his and hating how she immediately missed his warmth. “Well, this is embarrassing.”
He stayed lying on the mat. “No, it isn’t.”
“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.”
He sat up slowly, sitting cross-legged and facing her. His gaze was serious but supportive. “I’m feeling a lot of things right now, Tara, but sorry for you isn’t one of them. I’m angry you had to deal with all of this shit as a kid. I’m furious at the useless adults who let you down. I have an overwhelming feeling of relief that you got out of a horrible situation that could have trapped you forever, but it absolutely kills me that you had to exchange one war zone with another to do it.”
His mouth tweaked up slightly on one side. “And okay, you got me. I’m sorry you married a cheating prick, but my overwhelming feeling for you is one of utmost admiration. Most kids faced with that situation don’t get out. You did and you’ve made a life for yourself.” He raised his hand. “Go Tara.”
She stared at him dumbfounded. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to hear him say, but she knew it wasn’t this. After everything she’d told him, he admired her? The man never stopped surprising her.
He gave her a resigned look. “You going to high-five me or just leave me here with my arm up looking stupid.”
A bubble of something that closely resembled fun welled up in her. “Well, now that you mention it . . .” She pretended to leave him hanging for a moment before slapping her palm against his. His fingers immediately closed loosely around her hand. She could have easily pulled away, but she didn’t.
“Come dancing with me, Tara.”
She gaped at him. “What?”
“Dancing.” He rose to his feet and tugged her up with him. The next moment his other hand was on her waist and he was spinning her around. “The Switkowskis’ street party always has dancing.”
She stopped mid-twirl. “On a road?”
He sighed. “They close it off to traffic, Officer, so it’s safe.”
“I didn’t sign a permit.”
“Tara!”
“Sorry.” The heat of his hand against the skin on the small of her back was screwing with her concentration. “Dancing sounds so . . .”
“Old-fashioned? Fun? Dorky?”
“Definitely all of the above,” she said, trying to think if she’d ever been invited to go dancing and coming up blank. “But I was going to say normal.”
He gave her his wide and enthusiastic smile that always tugged at her. “You need some normal in your life, so come dancing with me.”
He twirled her out again, and when she spun back, she checked his face for clues that he had more than just dancing on his mind. Ethan was a nice guy, but he was still a guy, and guys expected sex. Despite the attraction she felt every time she was with him, she was hesitant to act on it
.
“Is this a date?”
“There are no hidden agendas, Tara,” he said with platonic friendship clear in the depths of his caramel eyes. “It’s just dancing.”
His reassurance should have filled her with relief, because like her mother, her attempts at relationships always failed. Tim had killed any illusions or delusions she may have had that she was capable of holding a marriage together, and when she’d filed for divorce, she’d promised herself she was keeping her life free of any emotional drama.
It’s just dancing.
So why did she feel disappointed?
Chapter 16
Liz Bartlett 00:15 AM
Mate, we hope you’re doing something special outside today underneath that wide, blue Montanan sky. We honored and remembered by sponsoring a surfing lesson for the kids from Jilagong. Are you okay? Any plans to come home? Talk soon. Mum and Dad xx
It was 11 A.M. and Will’s palms were slick with sweat—sopping wet like he’d plunged them into a bucket of water—as he stood facing the emotionally devastated community of Bison Creek. He recognized the people’s pain, understood their loss and comprehended their rage that the accident need never have happened.
Two years ago, he’d been on the other side of a similar event with frighteningly familiar players. Back then, just like today, there was one family wracked with grief, another with guilt and a town reeling with people feeling they needed to take sides. Lesser things had been known to cause massive schisms in small towns—and this incident threatened to tear this tiny community apart.
He wanted to help, but the timing sucked. It was taking every bit of mental strength he had to hold it all together when his heart and mind screamed to be elsewhere. At the best of times he had a hollow space inside of him, but today he was struggling to paper it over and keep on going.
The rez, as Millie called it, was three thousand square miles of beautiful country that bordered Glacier National Park on one side and Canada on another. It belonged to the Blackfeet Nation and reminded him of the Australian aboriginal communities at home, only instead of vivid red dirt, they had acres of waving grass and a view of majestic mountains. When he’d accepted the grief counselor’s invitation to attend today, he’d done some research so as not to inadvertently add to their sadness by doing something culturally insensitive. At home, in the outback aboriginal communities during sorry business, they never used the dead person’s name, believing it would disturb their spirit. He’d been reassured that this didn’t happen on the rez and he wouldn’t be putting his foot into his mouth if he mentioned Lily.
Sadly, life on the rez was scarily familiar to home, with the indigenous nations sharing similar health and socioeconomic problems and a lot of it stemming from a current lack of employment for young people. Not that lack of employment was exclusive to the indigenous community—it was endemic in isolated country towns in Australia no matter the ancestry, and it appeared to be much the same here.
The community center was full, and the meeting had already gone beyond the planned hour as people kept asking questions, trying to make sense of the events. Trying to come up with ways to prevent such a tragic loss from ever happening again.
“What about Jade?” a teenager asked, her voice breaking on her friend’s name.
“Jade remains in an induced coma,” he said, immediately going on to explain exactly what that meant in words the girl could understand.
“And when she wakes up?” she asked.
If. Will tried not to wince. Situations like Jade’s skewed the motor vehicle death figures, because technically Jade was still alive, but in oh so many ways, she’d lost her life. “Only time will tell how much of her brain function will return. I’ve seen it come back very slowly over time with a lot of hard work and determination.”
“We can help,” the teen said, glancing around encouragingly at her friends who all nodded their support.
They had no idea. “That will be great, and I hope you do.” Will swallowed, gearing up for the hard bit. “I just want to let you know that the Jade who wakes up isn’t going to be quite the same Jade you knew last week. Her personality might be different, and she may not remember everything.”
The girl’s mother squeezed her hand. “And the boys? How are they?”
“Ed and Bryce will have their own challenges as they learn to live their lives with a prosthetic leg and a wheelchair.” He threw out an idea he thought might help the town come together. “Bryce will need a lot of expensive equipment to live at home. Ramps, rails, bars, that sort of thing. So having some fund-raising events would help.”
“We could have a bake sale.”
“What about a rodeo?” a man added.
“These are all good ideas,” the grief counselor said, writing them down. “We can meet next week to discuss them, but right now, is there anyone else who wants to ask Doctor Bartlett a medical question?”
Will’s head pounded, and his throat felt constricted as if his collar was too tight. He reached to loosen his tie only to find he wasn’t wearing one.
Millie leaned in close and said softly, “It’s already gone way over time, and you look beat. People will understand if you need to wrap it up.”
He shook his head. He wasn’t leaving until everyone who wanted to ask him a question had taken his or her opportunity.
“Swallow these, then.” She produced some Tylenol out of her voluminous tote bag, which he’d learned over the past few weeks held a lot more than just her diabetes necessities. Passing him a glass of water, she pushed the tablets into his hand.
“Thanks.” As he swallowed them around the lump in his throat, he saw some movement in his peripheral vision. A woman was trying to stand, and a man who had his head bent close to hers was holding her arm, as if he was trying to keep her in the chair.
“Do you have a question?”
The woman shook off the man’s hand and shot to her feet, immediately stepping out into the aisle. Will recognized Lily’s mother, and his gut rolled, spinning nausea through him. The grief counselor had told him Mary wasn’t coming.
This is going to be tough, bro, Charlie’s voice offered up. Come find me when you’re done.
Mary pointed an accusatory finger at Will. “You took Lily and you . . .” Her voice cracked before rising with hysteria. “. . . you promised me she’d be okay.”
Will’s chest tightened. He knew he’d never said any such thing, because ER physicians never made promises, but denying her accusation wasn’t going to help either of them. Neither was saying that he’d gotten Lily to the hospital alive, because the woman had just lost her child. The circle of life had been well and truly crapped on, and she needed to lash out at someone. He could at least give her that.
“Mary,” Millie said gently, “Will said he’d do his best and he did. I was there. He—”
Will put his hand on Millie’s arm, gripping it tightly, and shook his head. Two frown lines immediately appeared on her forehead, and her eyes filled with questions, but she stayed silent.
He walked up to Mary, and with his arms loose by his side, he bent his knees so he was closer to her height. “I’m so desperately sorry for your loss. More than anything, I wish things were different and you weren’t living through this hell.”
The grief-stricken woman made a strangled sound and then her legs buckled. Will grabbed her before she hit the floor, pulling her in against him as she sobbed uncontrollably. Great, wracking sobs that shuddered through her before transferring her grief to him. Two years ago he’d held his mother in the exact same way, and every rise and fall of Mary’s chest brought those memories rushing back in 3-D and living color.
His breathing quickened, and he had to consciously force himself to take slow, deep breaths so he stayed the distance. He could not fall apart here. He would not. He slowly became aware of people forming a circle around them, and hands coming up to touch them both.
Lily’s father squeezed his shoulder. “Thank you, Doctor Bartlett.”
He gently eased Mary off Will’s chest. “Come on, Mary, let’s go sing our girl home.”
The sobbing woman lifted her head and met Will’s eyes with an anguished and imploring look. “You were one of the last people to spend time with her. Please come to the ceremony.”
Every part of him yelled, No, not today, but he understood the need to hold on to tentative links—to try and keep someone’s memory alive when memory was the only option left. “Sure.”
Everyone moved outside into the bright, life-affirming sunshine, and under the huge blue sky, Will breathed more easily for the first time in ninety minutes.
Millie slid her hand into his. “Do you want to walk there?”
He appreciated the offer. “A walk would be great.”
“I thought you’d say that.” She squeezed his hand, her care and support flowing into him as they walked up the rise.
As much as he was thankful she was here, he kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, because if he looked at her, he’d only see questions in her eyes—so many unasked questions. Questions he’d been ducking all week. His usual tactics of teasing her, kissing her and burying himself deep inside her had dimmed them, but he’d seen them gain intensity during the community meeting.
“You okay?” Millie asked yet again, as if she was the poster girl for the annual Australian mental-health-awareness R U OK? Day.
“Yep,” he lied yet again. “What about you? You must need some food?”
A flash of something in her eyes buried those damn questions for half a second. She patted her bag. “I packed sandwiches. What about you?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Doesn’t mean you don’t need to eat,” she muttered quietly, sounding slightly ticked off.
He chose to ignore the comment, because the idea of food made him gag. They walked the rest of the half mile in silence before joining the circle of people on the hill. As Will sat, he plucked a blade of the long green grass and automatically started tying it as if it were suture thread—anything to keep his thoughts away from what this ceremony meant.
