by Rachel Lee
“Where’d you learn to comb hair?” she asked finally.
“Horses,” he said, with something like a short laugh. “Manes tangle. Your hair’s a lot finer, though.”
“It tangles really badly.”
“Not that badly.” He kept working, taking his time, taking it easy with her. She actually enjoyed his attention and could scarcely believe it.
“So,” she asked after a few more minutes, “do you have horses?”
“I own a couple, but I have a friend take them over the winter. I like to ride a lot, but not in the winter, so he sees to it they get plenty of exercise.”
“Sounds like a good friend.”
“He is. It’s also his business, so I don’t have to feel bad about stabling them with him. He’s really good with them. They come back every spring fat and happy and a pleasure to ride. I don’t have his touch, so every summer I manage to work some kinks into them, and every winter he irons them out.”
She laughed a little. “What kind of kinks?”
“Oh, they get a little stubborn. A bit fussy. Gideon’s tried to figure out what I do wrong, but so far he just fixes things and can’t tell me where I mess up.”
“So he knows what to do right but can’t tell you how to do it right, too? That’s weird.”
His hands stopped combing, just briefly, then resumed their work. “Well, actually, he does tell me something.”
“What’s that?”
“He keeps saying, ‘Clint, you just gotta open your heart to those mares.’ Damned if I know what he means.”
Oh, Kay thought with a pang, that made so much sense. And it was a pity he didn’t understand. Or maybe he didn’t want to understand. She could sure grasp not wanting to give heart-space to someone or something.
“There you go,” he said. “I have a rubber band if you want it off your shoulders until it dries.”
“Thanks, it’s fine. The fire should dry it fast.” And she was so sorry he was done combing. The attention had touched her in ways little had in a long time.
“Feel better?” he asked.
“Tons. It’s so nice to be clean again.”
“Yup, that helps a lot.”
No doubt he spoke from experience, especially since he sounded so certain, but she didn’t feel she could ask.
After he’d cleaned up the mess from her bath, he brought her another mug of coffee. “Still no power,” he remarked. “I’d lay odds at this point it’ll be out all night.”
“Well, I certainly feel cozy enough.”
He gave her that half-smile again, the one that didn’t quite crack the stone. He’d pulled back again from the place they’d nearly reached before her bath. She relaxed a little more, glad that the barriers were back in place. She didn’t want the intimacy they’d shared because of her bath and hair any more than he did.
Or so she told herself. But she wasn’t quite believing it anymore.
And that scared her as much as the lurking threat of Kevin.
Chapter 6
As soon as he could think of a good excuse and didn’t think it was too soon, Clint announced he was going back out to check for wind damage.
Stepping out into the icy blow both shocked him and relieved him after the heat in the cabin. And not just the heat from the fire.
Crap. It was the mildest cuss word in his vocabulary, but he settled for it largely because he was making a strenuous effort to avoid using language that might singe Kay’s ears. For a woman who’d been through all that she had, there seemed to be an innocence at her core. Maybe a kind of naiveté. Although he had to admit his own blighted soul hardly provided a good measuring stick by which to gauge anyone else.
The blowing snow that stung his skin, along with the wind that could suck the life out of him in a matter of minutes if he shucked his jacket, at least brought some balance back.
He was a monster. He was the bad guy. He was Kay’s worst nightmare, even if he was pretending to be her savior. What Kevin had done to her was nothing compared to the things he himself was capable of. Things he’d done. Things he’d had to do. Although had was a word choice he still wasn’t comfortable with. Yeah, he’d done what was necessary to follow his orders and complete his missions. At the time, that had seemed to be enough. It was only later, during the dark night of the soul, that an honest man had to ask himself why he’d allowed himself to be twisted to such ends.
Why the hell he hadn’t just drawn a line in the sand and said “No.” Because at some point, you had to take responsibility for your actions.
Yeah, as he’d said to her, everyone did the best they could at the time, but that rang hollow in some deep interior place. For him, at any rate, which was why his book on Just War Theory set off so many negative reactions. Because he didn’t just write about the responsibility of nations, he wrote about the responsibility of individuals. Like himself.
He cussed again, letting out a stream of colorful words in several languages, and kicked at the snow as if he could release some of his spleen on nature.
Okay, so he’d had to help the woman. No escaping that. But desire her? God almighty, she was wounded, damaged, frightened—and justifiably so. What the hell was wrong with him, that he could find her so attractive? And he didn’t want to blame it on being alone too long, didn’t want to blame normal male urges, none of that stuff, because in the end, he was responsible for everything he felt and said.
That was why he had a brain. To turn away from temptations that might condemn him to an even deeper circle of hell.
He bent and scooped up snow in both bare hands, squeezing it so hard some of it melted and water ran between his fingers. He held it until his hands turned numb, then dropped it.
Control. That was all it took, and he’d been working on his self-control for a long time. It ought to be strong enough to deal with this distraction.
Ought to be.
“Hah,” he said, the word snatched away by the angry wind. Sharing his cabin with that woman was proving to be a circle of hell all its own, because the beast in him was waking, the beast with the primal urges.
Turning suddenly, he stalked around the cabin, making one last check, then re-entered. Kay sat up quickly, then relaxed when she saw him.
“Don’t relax,” he said shortly. Her eyes widened. Good.
He kicked off his boots and dumped his jacket. Then he went to sit in his chair, facing her tensely across the coffee table.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Me.”
“Are you sick?”
“Sicker than you know.” He closed his eyes, then decided to go ahead and do it, just do it. He needed her to look at him with the fear he deserved. It would help keep him in line.
“I’m going to tell you something,” he said finally.
“I’m listening.”
“You should be very afraid of me.” He heard her gasp.
Then, her voice, hesitant, “Why?”
He opened his eyes, sure the bottomless abyss of his soul must show there. He sure hoped it did. “Because I’m a monster.
“What do you mean?”
“You have no idea what I’m capable of. I make Kevin look like a tyro. I’m a trained killing machine. I’ve maimed, I’ve terrorized and I’ve killed. The fact that it was my job is no excuse. I know what I’m capable of, and Kevin doesn’t even begin to approach my capacity for evil.”
Her blue eyes had grown huge, but he was annoyed to see that she didn’t shrink back.
He leaned forward. “Do you think,” he asked in a low voice, “that we get to check our consciences at the door and never accept responsibility for the things we do under color of war?”
“I…never thought about it.”
“Most people don’t. Why should they? They never have to walk into hell. But those of us who have…we’re never the same again. That’s why so many vets have all kinds of psychological problems, you know. Because society breaks the contract.”
“What cont
ract?”
“The one that says ‘We sent you. Do this in our name, and we waive all the usual moral rules for you.’ Which implies a responsibility shared among all of society, don’t you think?”
She nodded, still wide-eyed.
“They promise us an absolution they can’t give. Whether they give us parades or put flashy bumper stickers on their cars, tie yellow ribbons on things or call us heroes, they cannot give us absolution because it’s not theirs to give.” He ran his fingers impatiently through his short hair.
“So they say, ‘Go do this in our names, and we’ll call you heroes.’ But what they really mean is, ‘Go out and fight for us, do horrible things in our name, drop your civilized veneer and then come home and act like it never happened. Act like we aren’t responsible for what we asked you to do. And sure as hell don’t ever tell us about it.’”
“Oh, Clint…”
He brushed aside the soft sounds of sympathy. “But there’s another part, too. Those of us who do the dirty work not only have to live with it, but we have to accept the responsibility for having done it. We don’t get to squeeze out of it. We see it every time we close our eyes. And we have to ask ourselves why we just didn’t say no.”
“How could you have said no? I mean…you don’t know what it’s going to be like until it’s too late.”
“Well, that’s the trick, you see. They found out during the Second World War that men are actually opposed to killing each other. Only one in four soldiers in battle actually fired their guns.”
“Wow.”
“Exactly. So they developed a gaming system. Haven’t heard about that, have you? They train you on lifelike video games before you ever hit the field. You wouldn’t believe how many soldiers I’ve heard say, ‘It was just like a video game. Until afterward.’ Afterward, when they start picking up the pieces of bodies. But by that time, you’re in a kill-or-be-killed situation, which is all the push you need to cross the line. And then the next line. And the next. And then those lines will never exist again.”
“No?”
“No. Because afterward you get pissed. And scared. And a whole bunch of other things that push you past the boundaries of basic morality. Your buddies are dead or maimed. You’re being attacked. And you stop thinking, because you can’t afford to think. Not until much later.”
At least this time she didn’t try to say anything.
“And some of us lucky ones get extra training, extra brainwashing, and get sent into situations where we do things the movies try to clean up and make look heroic. But believe me, there’s no heroism in it. You get there one step at a time, and once you’re in it, there’s no way out. So you just do it. Mostly because if you don’t, your buddies could pay for it. No soldier ever fought for a flag, or for mom and apple pie. No, we fight for the guy beside us.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. She ought to be avoiding his gaze, but she wasn’t. Was she crazy?
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “So, so sorry.”
A kind of frustration filled him. “Don’t you get it, Kay? I’m telling you I’m a monster.”
“I don’t think a monster would be telling me all this with such obvious self-loathing.”
He swore, and this time he didn’t spare her ears. Worse, she didn’t even flinch.
No, instead she showed a spark of the fire that had been missing since he found her, a fire he’d been sure must have been there all along, because she had survived.
“You need to stop doing this to yourself,” she said hotly. “The world is full of people who’ve been pushed into the same situation. That doesn’t make any of you monsters.”
“No? Then what the hell does it make us?”
“People,” she said flatly. “Ordinary people. People shaped by extraordinary circumstances. Do you think I’ve never thought of slipping a knife between Kevin’s ribs? Do you think I’ve never fantasized about killing him? Oh, I’ve planned it a dozen ways. What does that make me? Another monster?”
“You didn’t do it.”
“Mostly from lack of opportunity.” She looked down and picked at a bit of fuzz on the sweatshirt she wore. “I plan to do it if he comes after me again. I want to get a gun.”
Something inside him cracked a bit, a painful crack. “Don’t do that,” he said hoarsely.
“Why not? I can’t keep living like this.”
“You won’t want to live with yourself afterward. Trust me on that. You will hate yourself. Let someone else take care of it.”
“Who else? No one else has taken care of it except that time he went to jail, and then he just came back.”
“I’ll do it then, dammit!”
“No!” She almost screamed the word at him. “No. You have enough to deal with. Do you think I want Kevin on your conscience, too?”
That crack inside him became wider, deeper, and so painful he could have ripped the cabin apart with his bare hands. “Don’t trust me,” he said again, his chest so tight he could barely squeeze the words out. “Don’t ever, ever trust me.”
“I already trust you.”
“Don’t. You don’t begin to understand the rage I live with. I’ve seen some of my buddies, some of the best people in the world, take it out on their wives and kids. I am not to be trusted. Under any circumstances. This demon inside me could burst out at any moment.”
She bit her lower lip and looked down, pulling another bit of lint free, then looked up and met his eyes again. “I’ll take my chances.”
He swore and jumped up from his chair, unable to hold still another minute. He paced the room like a panther on the prowl. He hoped she could see the building danger in him, hoped that she would just shut up and let him walk it off.
Damn, he wanted to pound his fist into a wall, but he wasn’t idiot enough to break his own hand just to break the cycle of his thoughts. Finally he came to a halt as far as he could get from her without leaving the room, faced the wall and pressed his forehead to the rough wood. He breathed deeply, leashing the monster again. Because he had to. Because he needed to. Because every time he leashed the damn thing, it got a tiny bit easier.
He hoped letting it out had scared her good. For her own protection. But now he had to put the monster back in its cage.
Then, freezing him in place, he felt a touch on his forearm.
“Clint,” she said softly. “Clint…”
It was too late. Turning, he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her tightly to him, crushing her mouth beneath his.
Because, heaven help him, he needed the human touch. The human warmth. The feeling that he was still, somewhere deep inside, good enough for someone.
She astonished him. After her first gasp and a helpless groan that barely penetrated his awareness—that almost, but not quite, reminded him that she hurt all over—she raised her arms and wrapped them tightly around his neck.
As if she never wanted to let go.
Oh, God, the crack grew even wider, the pain flooding him, and in an instant he became helpless before the need, the anguish, the hunger.
That helplessness shocked him back to his senses. He couldn’t afford to lose control. Never again.
Struggling against needs that bound him more tightly than even her arms, he tore his mouth from hers, then forced her arms from around his neck. He pulled back, just a few inches, but enough for salvation.
Her eyes opened slowly, sleepily. Her mouth looked bruised now, too, and he hated himself. “Clint…”
“I need to cool down. I’m going outside.”
Something sad flickered across her face, but she nodded. He made himself wait just long enough to be sure she was able to get back to the couch.
Then he strode out into the storm he never should have come in from to begin with.
Idiot!
Kay didn’t know what to do. She’d thought she had lost the ability to feel pain for anyone else. She’d thought she had put her softer emotions in as tightly locked a vault as possi
ble, leaving her to live on a steady diet of fear and caution.
But now she discovered that she was still capable of feeling as much pain for another person as for herself. Maybe even more.
And the person she felt it for was out there in the storm, probably trying to put his demon back in its cage.
She had her own demon, but suddenly she felt it was nowhere near as bad as what Clint was dealing with. The amount of self-hatred he’d shown her had been frightening. For all she beat herself up about what she had done or hadn’t done with Kevin, how she had failed herself and shamed herself by not being stronger, nothing she had been through could possibly compare with what Clint was going through right this very minute.
And she didn’t know what she could do to help. That pained her, too. Here he was, taking care of her, promising her protection, and she couldn’t do a thing for him. If anything, she seemed to be awakening the very things he was trying to put to sleep.
At that moment, if there hadn’t been a storm outside, she would have fled just to spare him. Except that would spare him nothing, nothing at all. He would hate himself if she ran, hate himself even more if she got lost—or, worse, caught—out there.
God, the helplessness Kevin had made her feel didn’t even come close to this.
Finally she couldn’t stand sitting there thinking any longer. Biting her lip against the aches and pains, she stood and went into the kitchen. Maybe she could cook something for dinner. Something to show her appreciation for the way he’d taken care of her.
Just one little thing to tell him that he mattered, too.
“What are you doing?”
His voice startled her, and she turned as quickly as she could. She hadn’t heard him come in, but now he stood in the kitchen doorway, filling it, and from what she could see by the dimming light of the propane lantern she’d carried in here with her, he didn’t look exactly happy.
“Cooking,” she said, hoping she sounded steadier than she suddenly felt.
“You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re still a mess. You could get hurt.”
