by Jillian Hart
“You won’t understand.”
“I’m not the dimmest bulb in the pack, so give me some credit. I’ve got enough gray matter to understand, whatever it is. So just tell me.”
She wanted to feel his iron-strong arms around her. She wanted to hold on to him and close her eyes and let this pain inside her go. To find peace and happiness and be able to say, finally, she’d been enough. Done enough.
But she wasn’t. She hadn’t. And if he knew—
He’d never love her. Never want her.
“You’re killin’ me, beautiful.” As if he knew her secret wishes, he folded his powerful arms around her and nudged her to his chest. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her safe and tender. It was more than physical closeness.
She could feel his heart. Strong and vulnerable and caring. Infinitely caring.
Tears pricked behind her eyes, sharp and hot. She would not give in, would not let herself hope. Not until he knew the truth, and then he’d turn away….
“Tell me.” His voice vibrated through her, as if it were a part of her, as if he were already a part of her heart. “I need to know. I want to make this better.”
Why did he have to be her dream come true? And how could she bear to lose him? His hand stroked the back of her head, tangling in her hair. His warm touch was awkward, slightly rough, as if this were new to him, too. But tender.
Tender enough to destroy the ice around her heart.
Leaving her open and vulnerable and more exposed than she’d been with anyone. Ever. “It’s not your fault.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You wouldn’t.” How could he? He was a hero by anyone’s standards. So great and strong, good and decent and invincible. “You’re not afraid. You’re not afraid of anything.”
“That’s not true, darlin’. I’ve been afraid plenty of times.”
“When?” she demanded. And when he didn’t answer, she turned away.
This wasn’t about going up in the helicopter tonight. Sam figured he might as well fess up. “I’ve been afraid more than I’ve been not afraid, I’ll tell you that. Is this about that medical flight going down a while ago? You had to have known the folks on board.”
“I did. I know how it was for them.”
Sam felt her go rigid. Her muscles tensed beneath his fingertips as he held her by the wrist. He felt her pain as if it were his own. He’d never known a connection like this before. He could feel her terror. Nurses saw a lot of trauma after the fact, in the battle to save lives.
Was that what was hurting her? Had she been on duty that night? “I’ve seen a lot of crashes—they’re bad. No doubt about it. But know this. You are safe with me. I have my faults, but I’m a careful pilot.”
“I have faith in you, Sam.” Her voice came muffled, and he felt her break then, the first shuddering sob, which came without tears. Pure emotion, pure pain.
Quaking now, she pulled away from him again.
He let her go. He knew about death. He knew about grieving. He knew about losses and images that haunted forever. “This is about your sister.”
Kirby sagged against the side of her car. “I couldn’t save her. I did everything. Everything I knew to do. There was nothing I could do—”
“You were on the flight?”
Tears shone in her eyes, but didn’t fall. “I was a nurse, but I couldn’t stop her from dying.”
“I know how that feels.” He put aside his own memories struggling to the surface. He put aside every emotion in him except the ones for Kirby. For Kirby who worked so hard, who did so much for others, who healed and comforted the sick.
He took her elbows, holding her up. “It’s a helpless feeling.”
“I did everything I knew. It wasn’t enough.” Tears shimmered but did not fall. “I wasn’t enough.”
“You were injured, too?”
Kirby turned away. How could she look into Sam’s eyes? A strong man, a hero. He didn’t let people down, the way she had.
After the accident, no one had said so. No one had ever hinted at it. Not in her family and not in her community. There had been two survivors that day, when a pilot’s error during bad weather had brought the private plane crashing into the foothills of the Bridger Mountains. She’d been one of them.
When the search and rescue team had arrived, John Corey had pried her away from her sister’s body. Kirby had never spoken from that day on about the pain of her own injuries or the terror of the crash, of struggling in pain and shock and confusion to try to save one dying person after another. With no supplies, no medical equipment, no help.
She never talked again about how Allison had died. By covering Kirby during the impact and saving her from the fire and the flying debris.
And later, no one had said a word. But she knew they wondered. Had she done enough? Could she have done more? And while there had never been any blame, she’d watched grief tear her family apart. Time was mending some of those rifts, but life in the McKaslin family had forever changed.
So had she.
She would give anything to go back and ask the Lord to take her instead.
But the past could not be changed. It wasn’t a tape to be recorded over or a movie take to be refilmed. And from that day forward, she’d done everything she could to make up for what had happened. She worked hard. She learned more. She volunteered. She rescued a puppy from the animal shelter.
It was never enough. How could it be?
How did she stop the pain gnawing at her heart like a hungry termite? Nibbling away on the edges so that the hurting never stopped? With every bite there was less of her, and she didn’t know how to ever feel whole again.
And there stood Sam, as invincible as the night and so amazing and capable, he looked as if nothing could ever defeat him.
All he had to do was hold her, and he could ease this pain. In his arms she felt comforted. She needed him, in the deep places in her soul where no light reached.
“You did all you could. Sometimes that’s the only truth there is. And you have to find a way to live with it.” Tender, his words. Caring, his touch as he held her arms. When she planted her hands on his chest to push away, he stopped her. “Trust that the Lord put you in that situation for a reason.”
“What reason? I held her while she died, and what really mattered inside me died, too. And do you know the worst thing? Do you know what I did when the rescue team found us? My first thought was, I’m going to live.” There, she said it. “Now you know how petty I am.”
He knew the worst of her. He wouldn’t want her now. There was no way she was going to see that on his face. See his affection for her change to hatred.
But he didn’t let her go. He pinned her to his chest and held her there. Tears scalded her eyes and came in a hot burning wave that drowned her. Tears of sorrow and horror and loss broke loose and crashed through her. Sorrow for the other people, wounded and broken, she couldn’t save.
Sorrow for the pediatric floor nurse who had no trauma training, no emergency nursing. For her oldest sister she loved so fiercely and for her loss that would never be healed.
She cried because now that Sam knew, he couldn’t stand her either. And, she feared, maybe God, too.
He’d called her to be a nurse, and she’d failed her sister and failed her fellow Christians.
She’d failed Him.
And while it was too late, she couldn’t do enough to make up for it. Not now. Not ever.
Choking on her own failure, she had no one to blame but herself. She pushed away from Sam, and this time he let her go. She yanked open her door and he didn’t stop her. She drove away, spitting gravel as she drove too fast, watching his image in her rearview mirror.
He stood bigger, taller. A man of substance and honor and courage, surrounded by the night, blessed by the silvered moonlight. As she rounded the corner, he disappeared from her sight.
The stars winked, bright and perfect, above the cemetery. Their light hazed dow
n on the headstone of pure white marble. Carla would have approved. He was still healing the knee he’d blown out, the femur he’d broken in five places during the crash and the gunshot wounds from the fight with the enemy.
Now this new wound. She’d told him she’d never forgive him for letting Mark die, his navigator and his best friend. She’d been in love with Mark, but he’d rejected her. She’d married him only so she could be a pilot’s wife. An officer’s wife.
That was the greatest wound of all—inflicted when he’d come home to the wife he loved more than his life. He’d endured capture and torture and watching the deaths of his closest friends and held on with this steadfast faith and his unconditional love for his wife. The goodness that had helped him hold on in the face of cruelty.
All he’d wanted to do was love his wife. Have a good life with her. And she’d turned away from him. Blamed him. Told him she wanted a divorce and sped away, only to die in a car accident twelve minutes later.
She’d taken his heart with her to the grave. He felt as if the only light on this earth he’d believed in had been snuffed out.
And he was alone in the dark.
Sam startled awake to a silence that felt as thick as sorrow. His breathing, the rustle of the sheets as he flung them off, the groan of the mattress coils as he sat up to bury his face in his hands emphasized just how alone he really was.
Would it always be this way? And why, tonight, was he wondering that question? For the first time since the day he’d buried his wife, he wanted to love again. How insane was that? Her betrayals had cut him deeply and remained a scar on his soul.
Never trust a woman with too much of you. That’s what he’d learned. He saw it over and over again over the years, with his buddies from high school and from the service. Marriages that didn’t last, that couldn’t stand the test of time. And many of those that lasted, did so with sadness and distance for the children’s sakes or because divorce was unthinkable.
This was Kirby’s fault. She made him want to believe. She made him want to try. She made him wonder, what if this time with her it could be different?
Anger speared through him, both hot and sharp. The pain was a physical one that had him bounding up from the mattress and stumbling around a snoring Leo sprawled out on the floor. Sam yanked on his wrinkled pair of jeans as he stormed into the hallway.
She’d surprised him tonight. She’d rattled him. She’d knocked at the defenses surrounding his heart, and those defenses were holding…barely.
Yep, this was all her fault.
Tonight her house was dark. Had she come home? He’d driven straight from the airport, but her car wasn’t in the driveway. Worried about her, he’d cruised through town but hadn’t spotted her car parked along the main street. She had probably gone home to her family, he figured, or to one of those sisters of hers and some serious girl talk.
At least, that’s what he hoped. The thought of her alone and hurting tore at him.
He’d kept an eye out for her lights next door, but she hadn’t come home.
She doesn’t need you, man. She had family. She had her pick of men more worthy than him. But he wanted to be the shoulder she leaned on. He wanted to be her shelter from the storms of her life. Why?
Because she’d made him feel. Strong. Worthy. Wanted. She’d clung to him, her fingers clenching the knit fabric of his T-shirt. She’d held him so tight. She needed him. Him. She’d felt so fragile and precious and—
Whoa, hold it right there, man. That’s the kind of thinking that got you into trouble last time.
And what a mess of trouble that had turned out to be.
He padded through the kitchen, stole a root beer from the fridge and popped the top. The soda was ice-cold on his tongue and fizzled down his throat. But nothing would soothe him on this night, so he set it on the counter.
The clock on the stove said it was well after two. Was Kirby home? He couldn’t see her driveway from this angle, and all her windows were dark. Wait, there was a movement. Outside, on her back porch.
Adrenaline shot through him. His first thought was a burglar. But no, it couldn’t be. The shadow was too slim, and if it was a burglar, it was a very unambitious one. It was a woman, her long hair tumbling over her shoulders as she eased onto the top porch step. She hid her face in her hands, a perfect image of misery.
Kirby.
Chapter Eleven
The fence boards groaned. It was Kirby’s only warning before a dark shock of hair and two eyes peered over the top of the boards. Sam climbed over the fence like an escaped prisoner, or maybe a spy on a mission, and landed upright, on both feet. The little spaniel gave a yip of greeting and ran over to wiggle in a circle around Sam’s ankles.
“Can’t you use the gate like a normal person?”
“Why be normal?”
She rolled her eyes. She should have known she couldn’t escape him. That’s why she hadn’t come straight home. Why she’d driven around the countryside for a while, thought about heading to her parents’ house and decided against it. In the end, she wanted to be alone.
And still did.
Thank goodness it was dark. She didn’t think she could look Sam Gardner in the eye. She stood and dusted off her sweats. “C’mon, Jessie, time for bed.”
The spaniel refused to come, preferring to orbit Sam’s ankles. Sam’s big hands looked rough, but they were gentle as he knelt to stroke the dog’s back. Steady and caring.
Mr. Perfect.
Why did that suddenly make her angry? Kirby fought a quick wave of despair. There was no way he’d treat her the same way. No chance that he’d pull her against his chest and hold her close forever.
There was no chance of being wrapped in his arms and finding hope. As if she could finally start living again.
That didn’t make any sense, because she was living, she was alive. She had her own house and a perfectly useful life. She volunteered and worked and was faithful. She tried to be a good daughter and sister.
“You’re not okay. Don’t lie me.” Sam’s touch grazed her face, drying away a tear.
She wasn’t crying. She blinked hard to keep the emotions dammed up where they belonged. “I’ll be all right.”
“That’s not good enough. Sorry. You need a friend, and here I am.”
A friend. Yeah, that’s what she needed. “I have plenty of friends.”
She turned away, fighting a suffocating sorrow that was pulling her down. She needed to be alone. She wanted to get away from Sam so he wouldn’t see what a mess she really was.
“Bet you don’t have a friend like me.” He brushed windswept hair from the side of her face, exposing her more to him.
Exposing too much. Panic welled up, too.
Choking, she stumbled away.
“I’m not going to leave until I know you’re all right.” His step sounded on the deck behind her.
Kirby felt his closeness like a radiant heat. Felt it like a brush to her heart. Like a comfort to her soul.
“I told you, I’m fine.” She squeezed her eyes shut against the memories. The images of what a plane crash could do. Of blood and horror and fire.
“Liar.” He curled his fingers around her nape, his fingertips skimming the skin an inch below her collar. “Scars from a fire. You were burned.”
She nodded. “Half of my back. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t anything compared to—” She took a few deep breaths. Nothing hurt more than the emotional pain. The horror of that night. And the guilt of every day since.
He wanted to ease her pain. “I was flying in to pick up a team of SEALs on a black ops mission and took a direct hit. There was nothing I could do. Next thing I knew, my bird was smoking. I had no controls and we were dropping. We hit hard. I mean, I did everything I could and it was a bad impact. I couldn’t believe the three of us were still alive. We were all busted up real good.”
“Did people die?”
“Yeah. And why me? I lived. I was hurtin’ bad, but the luck of the dr
aw, the way the bird went down, I had no control, nothin’. We hit trees or we would all have been dead. I think of that crash nearly every day of my life.”
“You were a good soldier, too, weren’t you?”
“Passable. Good enough that we put up a good fight before we ran out of ammo.”
“You were hurt?”
“Yeah.”
She heard the sadness in his voice, the honesty. See how noble Sam was?
Her voice cracked with the respect she felt for him. “You were captured?”
“Yep.”
She went cold. He’d had it so much worse than she could ever imagine. “You were rescued?”
“I was. But my buddies died and there was nothing I could do. To this day I feel responsible, but I can’t go back and change anything. Sometimes bad things happen. It’s hard to accept, but it’s true. And when things go wrong, all we can do is our best to deal with it.”
Hot tears crept down her cheeks. “I’m sorry your friends died.”
“Me, too.” His voice cracked, raw and thick with emotion. “I had the privilege of living, of going home to the wife I loved more than my life, and attended my friends’ funerals. Men who died while I survived.”
“I know how that feels.” She wanted to wrap her arms around him and take his pain. To do anything to keep him from hurting. But what right did she have? He was not hers to love.
He never would be.
Sam cleared his throat and stared up at the stars so crisp and bright. “That’s why I retired. I couldn’t bury any more buddies. Living is better than dying, but it sure is harder. It took me a long time before I figured out I still had a life. And it dishonored their memories if I didn’t do my best every day to enjoy my second chance.”
“But you were a hero.”
“No, I’m just a man, Kirby.”
“I was a nurse. I couldn’t make a difference.” She couldn’t ever forget.
Or forgive herself. So how could he forgive her?
“All those people you couldn’t help.” Sam could feel her pain as if it were his own. He knew about guilt. He knew about sorrow so deep it reached clear to the soul. “Don’t blame yourself. You did all you could.”
