Resisting Her Rebel Hero

by Lucy Ryder

  “What happened?” she prompted softly.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw and his face settled into a blank mask that squeezed her already bruised heart. For long moments he stared silently at the floor then exhaled noisily, thrusting a hand through his hair, the jerky motion dislodging a dark lock. She had to curl her fingers into her palm to keep from reaching out to smooth it away. Smooth his pain away.

  After a moment he said flatly, “The mission was jinxed from the start. It was supposed to be quick. Drop in, find the hostages, blow everything up, go home. Instead there was a welcoming committee waiting at the drop site, as though they knew exactly where we were going to be.” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, looking unbearably weary.

  “We barely had time to dive for cover before firepower erupted around us. Back-up was still miles away and we were pinned down from all sides. I remember thinking we’d bide our time, wait them out.” He broke off with a bitter laugh. “Yeah, right. We’d expected maybe a dozen armed men. What we didn’t figure was that our intel was compromised. There were maybe fifty heavily armed men. All with us in their sights.”

  He paused, face hard, hands curled into fists, as though he was reliving that night. After a few moments of silence he added, “Back-up was also taking heavy fire and before I knew it we were out of ammo and outmuscled. Finally they rounded us up and took us into the mountains, where we were questioned. Separately. Together—hoping we’d talk.”

  Cassidy had a feeling “questioned” meant tortured. She went cold at the thought and pressed a fist against her mouth to prevent a sound of distress from escaping.

  “Did you?”

  Sam’s harsh laugh scraped at her ragged nerve endings. “Honey, SEALs don’t talk. Ever.” He took a couple of deep breaths before continuing. “They cut us off, took out our ground support and left us with no way to contact base command. We were on our own.” He fell silent. “Then one night, about a week into our capture, they came for me,” he said hollowly. “I remember thinking, This is it, time to make peace with God.” His eyes narrowed on some point in the past and he absently rubbed his wrists.

  “What h-happened next?” Cassidy prompted softly, dreading what she sensed was coming.

  He gave a heavy sigh. “They must have found out I was a medic,” he said flatly, dropping his gaze between his large bare feet. “I was taken to a house in the village and told to treat some sick kid. I refused unless they let my team go.” He snorted. “I had to try. Turned out they were waiting for a camera crew. An entire SEAL team is good leverage when you want scumbag terrorists released.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I eliminated two guys before they…uh…subdued me.”

  Sick with horror, Cassidy tightened her grip on her arms. He didn’t need to tell her what “eliminated” meant. She knew. Just as she knew “subdued” meant they’d probably beaten him senseless.

  “Seemed they didn’t want me dead. At least, not yet. Dead meant I couldn’t save the kid, who was in pretty bad shape. I don’t know how long I was out but by the time they emptied a bucket of water over me, they’d dragged in the team rookie and were holding a gun to his head. My eyes were practically swollen shut and my vision was blurring badly, but one look at him and I knew we were in trouble.”

  He muttered a few curses and wiped his face as though he could wipe away the memories. “Jeez, they’d beaten Scooter until his mother wouldn’t recognize him. But at least he was still alive. Anyway, I said I’d treat the boy if they let me patch Scooter up. They argued amongst themselves for a while before finally agreeing.” He laughed bitterly. “I knew…God, knew…I shouldn’t trust them. I knew it, but I—”

  He broke off abruptly, shifting restlessly, leaving Cassidy dreading the rest of the story. She could guess what was coming and braced herself, knowing that despite his training he’d been helpless to save the life of his friend.

  “I asked for my med supplies and removed the kid’s appendix. Took a couple of hours for his fever to break but when he finally opened his eyes, the guy with the gun on Scooter just looked me in the eye and…pulled the trigger.” He sucked in a ragged breath and then for the first time since he’d begun he turned to look at her—eyes bloodshot, devastated as he relived the nightmare.

  “They shot him,” he said blankly, as though he still couldn’t believe it. “They laughed and shot him in the head like a rabid stray.” Shoving his fingers through his hair, he looked away and struggled for control as Cassidy battled against the urge to hold him close, promise things he didn’t want or need from her.

  After a few moments he sucked in a ragged breath and added, “I went berserk. I took out everyone and secured the kid’s mother before she could rouse the whole damn village. Then I went to get my team.”

  “Oh, Sam,” she rasped, heartsick at how unbearably sad he looked, how unendurably weary. And she could no longer ignore the compulsion to touch him. But when she reached for him he abruptly turned away, as though he couldn’t bear her touch. She bit her lip against the devastating hurt of his rejection and slowly lowered her hand.

  “I’d do it again,” he vowed softly, his tone deadly. “They tortured and killed half my team. Good men…my brothers, my friends…and I….they were my responsibility and I failed them. If I’d made my move sooner, Scooter would still be alive.”

  “Or maybe not,” Cassidy offered softly. “Maybe you’d both be dead.”

  He rounded on her with a furious snarl, a white blaze of hot fury in his eyes. “It would have been nothing more than I deserved,” he snarled, rising abruptly. “I’m a SEAL. Failure is not an option.”

  He looked around a little wildly, as though he’d found himself trapped. Movements jerky with suppressed violence, he snatched up jeans, socks and boots and dressed in simmering silence. He’d shoved his arms through the sleeves of his flannel shirt and grabbed his jacket before she realized he was leaving.

  “Samuel, wait.” She reached out to tangle shaking fingers in soft flannel before she realized she’d moved. He stilled but didn’t turn, his stiff posture broadcasting louder than words that he was barely hanging on to his control.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  Feeling him slipping away, she did the one thing she’d promised herself she would never do. She begged.

  “Please, Sam, don’t go. Stay. Talk to me.”

  Ignoring her plea, he silently reached for the door, and before she knew she was moving, Cassidy slipped around his body to press her back against the door. He looked momentarily surprised, even retreated a step before his features hardened and his laser-bright gaze sliced her to ribbons.

  Ignoring the aggression pumping off him in waves, Cassidy locked her wobbling knees and bravely held his gaze, aware that she was shaking inside. She had a feeling if she let him go she’d never see him again.

  For a long tension-filled moment he stared at her, eyes blazing with emotions so raw and violent that she had to force her body not to step into his. “Stay, Sam…just stay,” she pleaded hoarsely.

  A muscle flexed in his jaw and she realized with shock that he was shaking too. She wanted to go to him but was held in place by the invisible keep out signs radiating off him. Finally he gritted through clenched teeth, “There is nothing to say. Now move out the way, Doc. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Doc? He was calling her Doc after everything they’d shared?

  Swallowing a bitter laugh, Cassidy drew in a shuddery breath and tried not to show how much his words—heck, his attitude—hurt. “I…love you Sam,” she whispered hoarsely.

  His gaze sharpened as though he’d heard her but intended to ignore her ragged confession. “It’s just a walk, Cassidy,” he said roughly. “I need some air.” And when she held out her hand, his coldly furious “I don’t need a goddamn nursemaid, for God’s sake. I just want some damn air. Is that too much to expect?” had her jaw dropping open in shock.

  Recovering quickly, she stepped forward to fl
atten her palm against his naked chest, hoping her touch would somehow get through the impenetrable wall he’d built around himself. “I… Let me help you, Samuel,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “Please, don’t go. I…I love you. I love you, let me help.”

  His reaction was swift and shockingly direct. Jerking back as if she’d slapped him, he stared at her in silence for a couple stunned beats before his expression turned into a remote mask, rejection clear in every tense line of his body.

  Cassidy’s heart sank and she pressed a shaking hand against the hard cold ball of misery forming in her throat. “Sam—?”

  “I’m sorry,” he interrupted impassively, frowning at her as though he’d never seen her before, and the cold ball of dread dropped into her chest, lodging right where her heart should be.

  Two words, I’m sorry, were suddenly the most devastating of her life. More devastating than anything that had happened in Boston. “You’re…s-s-sorry?”

  He gave a heavy sigh. “Yes.” His handsome face was carved with cold disinterest, his once beautifully glowing eyes flat and detached—as though she were a stranger. A stranger he didn’t particularly like the look of. “I’m flattered, of course, but I thought you understood I wasn’t…” He made a sound of annoyance. “Well, I’m sorry you believed otherwise. Now please step aside, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Cassidy didn’t remember moving, could only watch as he opened the door and walked out without a backward glance. Hours later, when a firm knock sounded at the door, she flew across the room, wild hope and relief shriveling along with her heart when she opened to find not Samuel but the Forestry Services pilot.

  Once the pilot left, Cassidy moved around the room like an automaton, gathering her clothing and dressing in stunned silence. She carefully washed and dried her face, ignoring the white-faced stranger in the mirror as she pulled her hair off her face and secured it at the nape of her neck. Then with her raw, bleeding heart carefully locked away behind a coolly professional façade, she left the hotel and headed for the hospital to check on Jim before taking the elevator to the helipad.

  She scarcely remembered the flight back to Crescent Lake. Staring sightlessly out the window, she was impervious to the cold, the stunning scenery, the curious man at her side.

  Nothing. She felt absolutely…nothing.

  By the time the chopper touched down, Cassidy was grateful for the numbness. She even managed to aim a small smile of thanks at the pilot before alighting from the helicopter. The ground was slippery with ice as she carefully picked her way to the building.

  Fran Gilbert took one look at Cassidy’s face and the blood drained away from her face, leaving her pale and concerned. “What’s wrong?” she demanded. “Are you okay? Is Jim okay?”

  Drawing her professionalism around her like a cloak, Cassidy paused to reassure the older woman. “He’s holding steady,” she said. “I checked on him before I left and spoke to his doctor. He seems cautiously optimistic about Jim’s recovery.”

  “I’ll call his wife,” Fran said with relief but kept her gaze sharply on Cassidy’s face then voiced the question Cassidy had been dreading. “Where’s Samuel?”

  Cassidy wrapped her arms around herself and forced herself not to react. “I… He had to leave suddenly.”

  Fran looked surprised, confused. “Leave? Where did he go?”

  Cassidy shrugged as though her heart wasn’t a bloodied, pulpy mess. “I don’t know,” she admitted, pressing trembling fingers against her aching temple. “His message didn’t say.”

  Fran digested the news in silence before saying, “You look awful, honey, and you’re frozen to the bone. Are you sick?”

  Cassidy didn’t believe her attempt to smile fooled the other woman but she was beyond caring. She was barely holding onto her composure as it was and Fran had just given her the perfect excuse. “I think I’ve caught a bug,” she croaked, instantly ashamed when Fran looked concerned.

  “Oh, honey, do you need someone to drive you home?” Fran asked, gently rubbing some warmth into Cassidy’s frozen arms. But she had a feeling nothing would ever make her feel warm again.

  She shook her head and resisted the urge to drop her head onto Fran’s shoulder. If she did, she would shatter into a million pieces and she couldn’t do that until she was alone.

  “I can’t leave, Fran,” she croaked, her control slipping fast. “Now that…um…” She swallowed hard and drew in a shaky breath. “Now that the major is gone, I’ll need to pull double shifts.” Besides, being busy would keep her from thinking too much.

  “No, you won’t,” Fran reproached firmly. “You’ll go home and get into bed. We’ll handle things today.” And when Cassidy opened her mouth to argue she said, “No arguments. I promise to call if we have an emergency.”

  Cassidy stared into Fran’s gentle blue eyes and finally pulled away. The woman knew. Oh, God, was she that obvious?

  “I’ll get my purse and jacket.”

  Cassidy let herself into the inn, aware that she was shaking uncontrollably as if she’d contracted some kind of jungle fever. Sweat slicked her skin and she had to wipe her damp palm against her thigh several times before she could shove the key into the lock.

  Sudden dizziness swamped her one instant, the next her stomach cramped violently and the hand that she’d flung out to grab the doorframe slapped over her mouth instead. She made a mad dash for the bathroom at the end of the hall, barely slamming the door behind her before she lost the meager contents of her stomach.

  When the retching finally stopped, she dragged herself to her feet. Moving to the basin to rinse her mouth, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and couldn’t hold back a horrified gasp. She was paper-white, hollow-eyed and looked like she’d just survived a major disaster. No wonder Fran was concerned, she thought, eyeing herself dispassionately. She looked like hell. And felt much worse.

  Unfortunately, the numbness that had got her through the past six hours was fading and the awful truth of what had happened was finding its way through the cracks in her composure.

  Her eyes and her throat burned with unshed tears and her heart felt like he’d ripped open her chest and savaged her. Hurrying back to her room before the dam burst, Cassidy shoved the door closed and she was finally—finally—alone.

  She sank back against the door, her knees buckling as a ragged sob escaped and the first scalding tear eased over her lashes to carve a fiery path down her cheek. By the time her bottom hit the floor, keening sobs racked her body and the tight leash she’d kept on her emotions finally snapped.

  It was over, she told herself. Over. When she’d finally admitted to feelings she’d never intended to feel.

  Dropping her forehead onto her updrawn knees, she choked back a ragged cry. Samuel J. Kellan had rocked her world then walked away without a backward glance. As if she meant less than nothing.

  He’d made mad, passionate love to her then coldly, dispassionately, told her he was sorry she loved him. He was flattered—flattered—but thought she’d understood he wasn’t looking for a relationship. I’m sorry you believed otherwise, he’d said, slicing her to the soul. And then, when she’d stared at him, her shattered heart exposed for the world to see—for him to see—he’d calmly told her to step aside because he didn’t want to hurt her.

  He’d calmly crushed her heart…and left.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CASSIDY ENTERED BERNIE’S supermarket and exchanged a few hurried greetings of “Hello, how are you feeling today?” and “Don’t forget to bring the baby in for his next check-up.” As much as she enjoyed stopping to chat, she hoped she could get in and out as quickly as possible.

  She had a long list of items to get for a bachelorette party, in…she quickly glanced at her watch…yikes, less than two hours. She also had to get back to the inn and shower and change out of her jeans and stained scrubs top.

  She was heading down the snack aisle, tossing things in her trolley, when she caught sight of t
he sheriff’s car drive past and pull in across the street. Turning away with an irritated mutter, Cassidy checked the next item off her list.

  She’d thought she was getting over being dumped in a Spruce Ridge hotel but then she’d heard Ruben Kellan’s voice down the passage in ER. Her heart had sped up and stopped at the same time, which was not only impossible but alarming.

  Her knees had turned to jelly and the blood had drained from her head so fast that Mrs. Jenkins—whom she’d been examining at the time—had shoved her into a chair and called for a nurse.

  Cassidy had blamed the episode on lack of food and long hours. No one had said anything but she didn’t think they believed her. Later Fran Gilbert had pulled her aside and handed her a pregnancy test. Cassidy remembered gaping at the other woman and dismissing the idea since Sam had used protection, but when she’d had a chance to think clearly, she realized she couldn’t remember her last period.

  So she’d panicked.

  But when the results had shown up negative she’d cried, great big gulping sobs that hadn’t made a bit of sense. She didn’t want to be pregnant—at least, not like that—by a man who’d made mad, passionate love to her one minute, as though he couldn’t get enough, then the next had walked out like she was nothing.

  Except it had proved to be a turning point of sorts. She’d emerged from the bathroom bound and determined to get over him. She’d thrown herself into the community, introduced a monthly clinic day for the local schools and a mothers’ support group that she hoped they’d continue after she was gone.

  During her visit to the middle school she’d met art teacher Genna Walsch, and they’d become close friends. It was Genna’s bachelorette party Cassidy was on her way to.

  Whipping through the store, she piled items into her trolley before heading for the refrigeration section. She selected a few bottles of chilled champagne and then added fruit juice for pregnant guests.

  Next she headed towards the deli, where she’d arranged to pick up a few roast chickens, and had to squeeze past two women studying the selection of cold cuts and chatting.