Trace choked back the tears and wrapped her in a tight embrace.
“I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to.”
Misty sobbed something. With a bit of maneuvering to unlock her arms from his neck, he drew her back.
“What?”
“I shouldn’t have popped the balloon. Mommy told me to be good, and I wasn’t.”
Trace gave her a sad smile. “Balloons pop. What happened today is not your fault. Okay?”
Her bottom lip trembled and she nodded. He smoothed some of her fly-aways and tucked them behind her ear.
“There’s a lot of stuff going on inside my head right now. But you just remember, I love you, and nothing is going to change that. Got me?”
Misty thrust her shoulders back and snapped him a littlegirl salute. “Yes, sir.”
Trace chuckled and blew a raspberry on her cheek until she squealed with laughter. After another bone-crushing hug, he stood. “Misty, I need to talk with Miss Danni. Can you go find your mom or Grandma?”
A mischievous spark flared to life in her eyes. “Are you going to play balloon volleyball with Danni, too?”
Danni snorted and clamped a hand over her mouth. Trace cleared his throat and shook his head.
“I don’t think I’d win.”
“Oh.” Misty shrugged. “I did.” And with that, she skipped from the room.
“Did she?”
Slowly, Danni climbed to her feet and sat on the corner of the bed. “It’s hard to move when you’re longer than the room is wide.” A smile brightened her features. “Future player there.”
Trace glanced at the door and closed it. “Maybe. She loves barrel racing, too.” He whipped out the desk chair and straddled it, crossing his arms over the back. “You’d make a good coach. Ever considered it?”
“It’s a possibility.” She shrugged and began massaging her knee. “I found Misty crying in the closet. Figured a li’l game would get her mind off the party.”
“Thanks for that.”
“I was a little girl like her once.” She winced.
“Here.” Trace stood, kicked the chair around to face the bed, sat, and patted his thigh.
One eyebrow rose and she frowned. “What?”
“I’ll give you a proper massage. It’ll help with the circulation and prevent any more strain.”
Seconds ticked past as she seemed to contemplate his request. Would she give in? Or would she let that stubborn streak take over?
Lord, for once let her accept my help without a fight.
She sighed. “Okay. But let me change into shorts first. You might want to get an ice pack. I’ll probably need it.”
He pushed the chair back and stood. “Be right back.”
As he left the room, he looked over his shoulder. Danni pulled out a pair of purple athletic shorts from her suitcase and wadded them in her hand. She straightened and met his gaze.
“What?”
“Danni, it’s okay to let someone help you.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing? Letting you help me?”
He shook his head. “I don’t mean about just this. Something to think about.”
Chapter 6
Danni emerged from the bathroom, trepidation swimming in her stomach. She shouldn’t have agreed to Trace’s offer to massage her knee. He was supposed to be taking her to her mom’s house. A simple drive into town tomorrow to visit a local massage therapist would’ve done the trick.
Something in his eyes when she looked up and found him watching her and Misty play squeezed in her heart. He was still hurting from his PTSD episode. Danni didn’t have the heart to turn him down when he made his offer.
He hadn’t returned with the ice pack yet. Danni clamped down on her lip and contemplated putting her jeans back on and forgetting the whole thing. And then Trace strolled into the room carrying a cooler. So much for that idea.
“How are we doing this?”
“Sit on the bed with your leg extended, and I’ll sit in the chair beside it.” He set the cooler on the floor next to the dresser, rolled the desk chair over, and then patted the edge of the bed.
She could do this. Her knee ached, and a massage would help. She sat on the bed, legs stretched out, and settled back against the headboard.
Pinpricks skittered up her leg at his touch. She watched him as he gently probed the tender areas with his fingertips. Warmth spread from his hands and the pain eased.
“Where did you learn to do this?”
His gaze flicked up to her then back to his miracle hands. “I’ve been working on my sports therapy degree. As soon as I’m out of the Army, I’ll finish one more class and then I can get my license.”
“I didn’t know you wanted to do that.”
“Still don’t know if I want to continue.” He began rubbing the whole knee and part of her thigh.
“Why not? It’s a good career.”
He shrugged, continuing to massage. His facial muscles twitched, but Danni couldn’t decide if he was upset by her question or by his indecision.
Danni closed her eyes and enjoyed Trace’s heavenly massage.
“Say you get your license, where do you plan to work?”
“If I get it I could work anywhere.”
She looked at him. “Anywhere?”
His massage focused on the underside of her knee and she tensed when it tickled. Trace paused and frowned.
“Did that hurt?”
“I’m ticklish there.”
A glint flashed through his hazel eyes. In the back of Danni’s head a voice whispered a warning.
“Don’t for one second think you can tickle me. My spiking arm isn’t injured.”
A wide grin split his face. “Don’t worry. I remember what a ball to the face from you feels like.” Pressing a little harder, he continued on the back of her knee. “Your surgeon did a good job.”
“I would hope so. He’s the best in the business.” Danni grabbed the extra pillow on the bed and hugged it to her midsection. The attempt to stop the butterflies didn’t quite work. “In two months I should be able to start light training with my teammate.”
There was a slight hesitation in Trace’s movements. Was he still upset over her not staying? Why should he be? They weren’t together.
“Trace—”
“What was your degree at USC?”
Danni blinked at the quick change in subject. She got her bearings back on track and squeezed the pillow. “Physical education.”
He stopped and rocked back in the chair. “You’re a PE teacher?”
“I could be a PE teacher. Training and competing take up all my time, so I never got a job.”
“A part of me is surprised by your choice, but another isn’t.”
Tossing the pillow away, she crossed her arms and frowned. “Am I supposed to be offended by that?”
“No. I think it’s great.” He removed the cloth-covered gel pack from the cooler and laid it over her knee. “Your knee healed well. The surgeon might bump you into light training sooner than you think.”
She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. “Really?”
Trace stared at her, seeming to examine her face, then flipped the cooler lid shut. “Just don’t overdo it on my say-so.” He stood and pushed the chair under the desk. “Still want to go to your mom’s house?”
His movements were sluggish. Today’s events had taken a toll on him. Having him drive her into town might drain him further.
Danni sighed. “You know, it can wait until tomorrow. I’ve got one more day before I meet up with my cousins.”
“Are you sure? It’s not too much trouble.”
“Yeah. Honestly, you look like you need to get some sleep.”
Trace gave a one-shoulder shrug. “If you say so.” His eyebrows dipped into a V. “Are you going to tell me what this family reunion deal is about?”
Danni slid her fingers through her hair, twirling a strand around one. “Guess you deserve that much. Right after Grams’s
funeral we, my cousins and I, were each given a set of quilt squares for an heirloom quilt. Most of them were done, with the names of each female family member on them. There were four left undone that we were supposed to finish. And on the first anniversary of Grams’s death, we four granddaughters are supposed to meet at the Broadmoor and assemble the quilt together.” She dropped her hand in her lap. “Mom took the square with her name on it and hid it from me. She refuses to tell me what she did with it. I want to go look for it, since she’s not there to stop me.”
“Why did she hide it?”
“I think she’s still sore over the fight and how her sisters treated her. And apparently ticked at Grams for doing this. Grams said in her will that the inheritance will be paid out to only the granddaughters.”
Trace’s eyebrows rose. “Just how much money are we talking about here?”
“A lot.” Danni toyed with the edge of the quilt. “I’ve got a stack of medical bills that money could pay off.”
“Is that the only reason you’re getting together with your cousins?”
She jerked her head up and glared at him. “My cousins meant the world to me, Trace. They were as close as sisters at one time. Just because our mothers were a bunch of hotheads doesn’t mean we have to follow in their footsteps. I just want us all to be a family again.”
He placed a hand on her shin and gave a gentle squeeze. “We’ll go to your mom’s house tomorrow and find the quilt piece.”
“You want to help?”
“It’s the least I can do after you saved my hide during the party.”
Trace stared into the half-empty cup of decaf. Around him, silence prevailed. The only light shining in the house was in the kitchen where he sat at the breakfast bar. After a three-hour discussion with his family about his PTSD, they’d trudged off to bed while he stayed up to pray and think.
His family was satisfied that he had taken steps to get out of the Army and seek counseling. What they weren’t happy with was his decision to finish his sports therapy training as soon as his enlistment was up. Both of his parents thought he should take some time off, let his mind heal. But Trace felt certain that if he remained stagnant, the PTSD would worsen. On that note they parted, deciding they all needed to sleep on it.
Well, they all went to sleep. He couldn’t get his mind to settle.
The soft shuffle of feet across carpet drew his attention. In an oversized white professional beach volleyball T-shirt and the same purple shorts from earlier, Danni entered the kitchen. Her mussed hair rebelled from the ponytail she’d tried to tame it with. She shuffled up to the bar, dragged out a stool, and plopped onto it.
“What-are-you-drinkin’?”
“Decaf. Want some?”
She harrumphed.
“Does that mean yes?”
She grunted. Fighting off the urge to laugh, Trace stood and headed for the coffeepot.
“Wha’ time is it?”
He glanced at the stove clock. “One-thirty.” He filled a cup and brought it to her. “What are you doing up?”
“I don’t know. Saw the light on and thought …” She took a sip then set the cup down. “Why are you up?”
“Praying and thinking.”
“ ’Bout what?”
He circled the rim of his mug with a finger. “A lot of stuff.” Stuff that could change the course of his life. And hopefully hers, too.
“Did you and your parents talk about your PTSD?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d it go?”
Trace met her more-aware gaze. “Better than I expected.”
A smile tilted up one corner of her mouth. “See, I told ya.”
“No, if I recall correctly, you told me it sucks and to stop throwing pity parties.”
She rolled her eyes. “Details.” She drank more coffee and cradled the cup. “Now that they know, what’s next?”
“Finish up my enlistment, get out, continue getting help, and get my sports therapy license. Though my folks don’t agree with the last one.”
“I can’t believe you’re getting out. You always talked about being a lifer.”
“Yeah, but we didn’t know that the world as we knew it was about to end and that the war would go on for so long. It wears on you, Danni. The daily exposure to blood and carnage. I’d do what I could and have to move on.”
Images and voices flashed through his head. The acrid stench of smoke and gunpowder filled his senses. He drew in a ragged breath, hoping to cleanse the odor from his nose. It only stirred more memories.
The soft feather-touch of Danni’s hand anchored him in the present. Trace fixed his gaze on their joined hands. How did she do that? How was it that the thought of Danni kept him sane through the fighting and the death? And her presence now helped him see past those nightmares.
“One day, will you tell me the story of how you got the Bronze Star?”
He started to pull his hand away. She stopped him, intertwining her long, nimble fingers with his. His heart throbbed and his blood thickened. One act of tenderness had him wanting to drag her across the counter and kiss her senseless.
“I said one day. I know you guys don’t like to talk about stuff like that with civilians.”
“How do I know there will be another day with you?”
Danni’s hand spasmed, but she didn’t pull away. “We don’t. But there’s always heaven.”
Smiling, Trace ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Heaven will work. By then I might be able to tell you.”
They sat in companionable silence while Danni finished her coffee. Finally, she freed her hand and stood. Trace ached to hold on to her a moment longer. If his plan failed, she would walk out of his life for good. He didn’t think he could handle another blow.
She set her mug in the sink and headed for the bedroom.
“Danni.” Trace grimaced at the crack in his voice.
She hesitated and faced him. “Yeah?”
“Misty was hoping you’d go riding with us tomorrow. Think you can swing it before we go to your mom’s?”
“I think I can.” Her gaze dropped to her knee and then met his. “What does the sports therapist say about the status of my bum knee?”
It would never get old, hearing her call him that. “If you wrap your knee, I think a ride won’t hurt you any. Might do you some good, actually.”
A frown marred her pretty face. “I don’t have any boots.”
“I think there’s a pair of Mom’s or Julia’s that might fit you.”
“All right,” Danni said and then left the kitchen.
Trace looked down into his empty mug. Her interest in him completing his training for the license sealed it. He’d make a few inquiries tomorrow before they went riding. Maybe by the time he took her to her mother’s house he’d have a solid answer.
Chapter 7
A note on the breakfast bar directed Danni outside. A pair of boots sat on the tiled floor next to the counter. She grinned and slid her feet inside. They felt comfortable.
On her way out the door, Danni grabbed a huge blueberry muffin and ate it while she strolled to the stables. The crisp October air was ripe with the scent of pine, musk, and sun-cured hay. Such a contrast to the smell of ocean and beach she woke to in San Diego.
She popped the last of the muffin in her mouth, tossed the wrapper into a nearby trash can, and entered the stable’s dim interior. Once her eyes adjusted, she made her way down the aisle. Misty’s chatter guided her to a small area at the end of the stalls. Three horses swished their tails as they waited to be saddled.
Trace emerged from the tack room lugging a saddle, with Misty hot on his heels. Danni’s breath lodged in her throat at the sight of him in a form-hugging dirt-brown T-shirt, jeans, scuffed boots, and an old ball cap. Scruff shadowed his face, enhancing his rugged features. She worked at her tight throat until she could swallow.
Time had made her forget how good Trace looked in cowboy mode. Her last memory of him was the day they saw eac
h other before he headed out for his medic training. He’d been in one of those woodland-patterned uniforms. He’d looked good then, too.
But the Trace of today trumped the Trace of yesterday.
“Danni’s here.” Misty’s squeak slammed Danni back to the present.
Trace propped an elbow on the saddle he’d just settled on a sorrel-and-white Paint. His lazy smile was like a drug. “Remember how to do this?”
She exhaled and forced a smile. “Like riding a bike.”
He patted the well-muscled rump of the black next to him. “He’s yours. Get to work.”
While she and Trace saddled the horses, Misty chatted like a magpie about her bunny, her parents, and her horse. Danni stole glances at Trace, feeling liquid heat surge through her veins each time. The man had a pull on her.
Seeming to sense her scrutiny, he paused in tightening the cinch on Misty’s horse and met Danni’s gaze. His eyes darkened to the color of melted chocolate as they stared at each other.
“Uncle Trace, can we go?”
A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Almost ready.” He broke eye contact to look at his niece. “Go get your helmet on.”
“Okay.” Skirting around the horses in a wide arc, Misty hurried into the tack room.
Free of his pull, Danni jerked her cinch strap a final time then wrapped it around the ring. Double-checking that the saddle was secure, she moved to the black’s head with the bridle.
“Danni.” Trace’s whisper startled her.
She spun and collided with him. Her stomach did a funny flip at the feel of his well-muscled chest. The air whooshed from her lungs. Cornered, she had no choice but to look up.
The expression on his face turned her into a pile of dry sand. He wanted to kiss her.
Fear pulsated from her heart. If she let him, there was no going back. She wouldn’t have the strength to leave him.
“Danni, I—”
“Trace, don’t.” She dared to touch him, pressing her hand into his solid chest and pushing him back. “We can’t.”
“Why?”
Too many reasons why they couldn’t raced through her head. Lots more of why they should competed with the why nots. Closing her eyes, she turned from him. “You know why.”
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