Lost and Found Groom

by McLinn, Patricia

  His voice dropped lower and harsher. “But now I’m not doing that–”

  So he could no longer see any reason for his luck in escaping a hell that no child should be in.

  Don’t waste any sympathy on me. I was lucky. I saw thousands like me, all trying to stay alive. A lot of them didn’t make it.

  “It makes sense that the Delligattis rescued you. It makes all the sense in the world, because you’re you. You don’t have to earn that, Daniel.”

  He said nothing. Still didn’t look at her. He pressed two keys lightly, first one, then the other.

  “Daniel . . .”

  Before she had recognized the impulse, her fingers lightly skimmed the scar on his cheek. He went absolutely still as she traced the raised skin with the tip of her finger.

  How many scars did he carry inside? From a childhood she couldn’t even imagine. From years of trying almost single-handedly to right the wrongs of an entire country.

  And from her?

  Had she inflicted scars on him?

  I know what it’s like not knowing who your father was. Matthew deserves better than that. He needs better than father unknown. I can’t give him much . . . but by God, I can give him that.

  She hadn’t meant to add to Daniel’s scars. She’d meant only to protect Matthew . . . and, yes, herself.

  Or had she?

  Had she meant to punish him? To make him suffer as she had, first with the fear of not being able to find Paulo after the hurricane, then with the betrayal of realizing the name she’d called out in love belonged to a figment, and finally with the loneliness of having their child without him beside her.

  She had barely begun to withdraw her hand, when he clasped her wrist. For a suspended moment they remained like that.

  She could pull away. She should pull away.

  Instead, she turned to him, her knees against his right thigh, easing the stretch of her arm across her body. He bent his head, his dark lashes partially lowered, and kissed her fingertips. Warmth flared from where his lips touched, down her arm, into her chest, then deeper.

  His mouth dropped to her palm, a lingering contact that translated into a long, hot shiver down her backbone and pulses of sensation in her hardening nipples.

  Thought had fled, evaporated by the heat and sensation of his touch, and her own longing.

  He skimmed the heel of her hand, from under her little finger to the pad of her thumb. His callused thumbs dredged up the hem of her sleeve, exposing her forearm to her elbow. Again, he drew her arm up as he bent over it, kissing the tender skin there, then tracing a pattern with his tongue. The shivers deepened to shudders.

  A nearly comatose instinct for self-preservation jerked her muscles into action, trying to capture her elbow from him and tuck it against her side.

  But that solitary instinct hadn’t figured on the way the back of his fingers, still wrapped around her arm, would brush against her breast, grazing her hardened nipple with a softness that sent a new jolt along all her nerve-endings.

  And those muscles hadn’t figured on the way he would follow her retreat, so his face came near enough to hers that a sway of motion by either one of them would bring their mouths together.

  They held there an instant, so close she could see in his eyes, along with a reflection of herself, his memories of their kisses. Or were they her memories?

  His grip on her arm eased–she’d been unaware how tight it was until he loosened it–and he backed away slightly. It was enough.

  She withdrew her hand, her arm and herself.

  “I am sorry, Kendra, I didn’t intend to make you sad. And I didn’t intend–”

  “It’s all right, Daniel.” She dredged up a smile. “No harm done.”

  Would there have been harm done if he had kissed her lips? If they had kissed each other? Harm to what? Or who?

  She rushed past her own questions with words.

  “And I’m the one who’s sorry. Sorry I didn’t understand three years ago what you were doing, didn’t try to help instead of trying to hunt down Taumaturgio. Maybe if I’d known–if I’d understood–I could have done more, stayed in Santa Estella after the storm–”

  “No. I’m glad you came here. I’m glad you brought Matthew here. Whenever I think of you leaving Santa Estella, I’m grateful.”

  “Daniel, now you have to leave Santa Estella behind, too.”

  “I don’t have much choice.” He seemed to make an effort to shake off his mood. “I can’t go back to Santa Estella now without being as reckless as you’re always accusing me of being.”

  “Good.” She achieved a fair approximation of brisk approval. “You did so much, gave so much. Now someone else has to carry that burden for a while. For you, it’s over.”

  His half smile disappeared.

  “Sometimes a war’s over, but not ended. Not inside.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  She took him back to her house.

  Even the next morning she couldn’t quite believe that.

  Not that anything happened.

  The church custodian had clattered into the co-op room with buckets and vacuum, paying them no heed and breaking the spell of confidences. Before she could blink, Daniel’s armor was in place and he’d disappeared behind a sardonic grin.

  “I really know how to show a girl a good time, don’t I?” He gave the piano keys a jazzy flourish, then stood.

  It would have been a more effective gesture if he hadn’t swayed.

  “When did you last eat?”

  “Eat?” he repeated distractedly. Apparently he was pouring most of his will into standing.

  “Eat. Food. Did you have lunch?”

  “No. Tight connection in Denver.”

  “Breakfast?”

  “No time. Had to get to the airport.”

  “Dinner last night?”

  He frowned, then gave her that twisted grin. “Wasn’t much hungry then.”

  She clucked her tongue at him the way she would at Matthew. “C’mon. We’re going to get you something to eat. And some rest.”

  “I’ll take you to dinner.”

  “Not tonight you won’t. I already have steaks out, and I’m not going to waste them.”

  Two steaks, which she’d defiantly vowed to cook at one time, to prove to Luke how wrong he’d been. And now he’d be right. Good thing he’d never know.

  Daniel must have been weak because he didn’t argue. So she’d driven him to her house, leaving his car in the parking lot.

  She’d cooked the steaks–meant to be her dinner and three days’ lunches–added a green salad, beans and baked potato. He ate every bit on his plate, and said little. She’d felt no need for conversation, either.

  She’d suggested he go sit on the couch while she finished the minimal clean-up, and he complied. She discovered him with his head back against the top of the couch, sound asleep.

  Just like his son. Feed him and he’s out like a light.

  Her smile faded as she remembered the day after his arrival, when he’d watched her put Matthew down for his nap. The haunted expression he hadn’t been able to mask after looking at pictures of Matthew’s babyhood had been back today. Now she understood more about the ghosts that populated that look.

  He was a man haunted by his own expectations of himself. Expectations that he needed to rescue the world in order to deserve a place in it.

  She could wake him and send him home–wherever he lived now that he’d left the motel. She’d purposefully not looked at the papers he’d given her, including the one with his new address and phone number, before storing them in a drawer.

  Sending him home was probably the wisest thing to do. Safest.

  Then she remembered that she’d driven him here. She’d have to drive him back to the church, and hope he could drive himself the rest of the way. And that was if she could wake him at all.

  He’d needed food and sleep. She’d fed him. And now she could let him sleep.

  She retrieved a pillow
and blanket from the closet, took his shoes off, then tried to swing him around to stretch out on the length of the couch with his head on the pillow. It wasn’t easy.

  His shoulders were too broad for her to get a good grip on from this angle of bending over him across the couch. And tugging on one didn’t work. He was solid–and heavy–muscle. She should have remembered that from the sensation of his weight above her, his strength beneath her when they–

  Inhaling sharply, she stood straight, shutting off the memory.

  But she couldn’t shut off her senses. Her hands still tingled with the warmth of his shoulders. And she couldn’t shut off her body’s reaction to either the memory or her senses.

  Heat pooled deep in her belly, leaving a shiver of awareness along her arms and a tightening in her breasts.

  Thank God he’s asleep.

  The scrap of grateful prayer reminded her of how exhausted he was. How badly he needed sleep–her reason for leaving him on her couch in the first place.

  She tugged again. Nothing.

  “Daniel, you are as stubborn asleep as you are awake.”

  He stirred and murmured something. It might have been her name.

  She couldn’t manhandle him into a comfortable position, but maybe–just maybe–she could talk him into it.

  She crouched, partly on the cushion, got as good a grip as she could with one arm on his shoulder and the other partly around his rib cage and put her mouth close to his ear.

  “Daniel . . . Daniel, come this way.”

  He grunted and turned toward her.

  “That’s it. A little more. Lie down, Daniel. Right here. That’s right,” she encouraged, as he started to tip toward her.

  Then, before she could react, he had wrapped his arms securely around her and dropped down to the cushions, taking her with him.

  “Daniel!”

  He didn’t stir and his breathing didn’t change. Twisting her head at an awkward angle to see his face, she realized he was deeply asleep.

  To consider the situation, she let her head drop to a more comfortable position, which happened to be where his neck met his shoulder.

  She’d landed on her side, her front plastered against his side by his hold.

  Even with the couch’s narrowness, she was comfortable. An almost familiar comfort, but a comfort with an underlying zing. His scent surrounded her as thoroughly as his arms did. The imprint of his hard, muscled body made itself felt from her head to her toes. Unpremeditated, her lips opened against the skin of his neck and she tasted the faintly salty musk she’d never forgotten.

  How strange. Her breathing came faster, her heartbeat definitely faster, yet a strange lassitude affected her muscles. Even the one between her ears. She should be thinking, not lying in Daniel Delligatti’s arms while he slept. And yet . . . it felt so . . . peaceful? No, there was too much physical awareness to call it peaceful.

  Maybe for a little while she could stay like this–

  No. No, she couldn’t.

  “Daniel. You have to let go,” she said sternly, trying to pull away from him, not caring if she woke him. She had to break his hold on her now.

  Using one hand to push against his torso, she picked up his arm from on top of her, then rolled free, ending on her knees on the floor.

  She was still breathing heavily as she spread the blanket over him, then sat abruptly in the easy chair across from the couch.

  She didn’t know how long she watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, with nothing as coherent as a thought emerging from the tumbling chaos in her mind.

  Fragments of memories, of conversations, of people came to the surface, then disappeared again. Emotions of fear, sadness, anger, sorrow . . . yes, and desire and the triumph of surviving. They all combined, separated and rejoined.

  Three years ago she never would have hesitated over this situation. She’d have closed the door of her life on a man like him without a moment’s hesitation.

  But three years ago there hadn’t been Matthew’s future questions to consider. Three years ago she hadn’t had the security of her life in Far Hills or the daily support of Marti and Ellyn. And three years ago she hadn’t gone through a hurricane with the man now lying on her couch.

  A man who’d saved her life, probably more than once. A man she’d trusted with her life.

  A man in pain.

  Maybe Marti was right. Maybe she could help him heal. Help protect him from the storm that pursued him as he’d once protected her from Aretha.

  She’d still have to be careful about Matthew, of course. Not let him get too attached to Daniel.

  Because the very reason she could consider trying to help Daniel heal was the same reason he could hurt Matthew so desperately–because in the end Daniel Delligatti would leave.

  He needed to fly. He’d said that himself.

  And flying would always take him away.

  Yes, she was attracted to him–deeply attracted to him, as their history, ancient and more recent, proved. But as long as she kept her head on straight and remembered why this man was so impossible for her and dangerous to Matthew, it would be okay.

  And she could do that. She would do that.

  She’d keep Matthew safe. And she’d be safe.

  She’d make sure of it.

  *

  Daniel was still asleep when Kendra got up the next morning.

  It was strange waking up in a house that didn’t have Matthew in it and did have Daniel in it.

  She peeked at him from the hallway and saw he’d turned on his side, facing the room. He slept on.

  By the time she’d showered and pulled on sweats, he seemed more restless. She left a clean towel and washcloth folded on the coffee table in silent invitation, then headed to the kitchen.

  She was sipping from her first cup of coffee when she heard the shower start. She hadn’t heard a single sound before that. Apparently his government training or his years at Taumaturgio or both had left him able to move without noise. If the water pipes didn’t gripe at being used, she would have had no idea he was awake.

  Having him in the house and not knowing where he was or what he was doing, that would make anyone edgy.

  When the water went off, she started the eggs and toast. She’d planned on over-easy eggs until the first one hit the pan. Maybe she needed more sleep.

  She didn’t hear him come into the kitchen, either. Yet she knew exactly when he’d rounded the corner.

  She liked that even less than not knowing where he was.

  “I hope you like scrambled eggs. That’s all Matthew will eat, and I seem to be out of practice at making any other kind.”

  He held his silence. She couldn’t resist the almost palpable pull of his will. She looked up.

  His hair was wet, slicked back the way Paulo had worn it, but already starting to dry enough to let the waves work free. The stubble on his cheeks had blossomed toward a beard and his clothes proclaimed they’d been slept in. But his skin didn’t have the gray tinge of last night, his shoulders were straight and his eyes had shaken off some of the ghosts.

  Or put them back behind closed doors.

  “Scrambled’s fine.” He stepped to the edge of the counter that divided the working area from the eating area. “Kendra, I’m sorry about last night.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  His mouth twisted. “How about for crying all over your shoulder?”

  “You didn’t.” She turned back to the eggs. “If you want to be technical, I did the crying. You talked about some things. There’s no crime in that.”

  He snorted. “Seems like talking’s all I’ve been doing. They put me through more debriefing back in Washington.” The toaster oven door clicked open. Without being asked, Daniel took the toast out, put it on the plate she’d left nearby, then started two more pieces. “You’d think they’d already have every thought that ever passed through my head down on paper by now, but they wanted more.”

  “And tha
t’s what got you thinking about Santa Estella again.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Butter or jelly?”

  “Strawberry preserves for me.” She spooned fluffy eggs onto two plates. “But you should feel proud of what you did, Daniel. You–”

  “Those kids needed me to stick around–they need me there now. I let them down.”

  “Daniel, you gave years of your life–”

  “I could still be there if I hadn’t gotten so damned sure I could pull off anything.”

  They met at the kitchen table. Her with the two plates with eggs, him with the toast, plus a cup of coffee he’d poured himself.

  He dug into the eggs, apparently still filling the hole created over several days of not eating. She nibbled at a piece of toast.

  “You know, there are other ways to help kids, Daniel. Other kids – people–who need help. All around you. There might not be the headlines, but it’s still important. It might not mean flying daredevil missions into dangerous spots. It might be quiet and ordinary things, but it needs doing.”

  “Trouble is, I’m not sure I have those skills.” His would-be wry grin stretched tight with pain. “I watch the parents with their kids at the co-op and especially I watch you with Matthew, and . . . I’m a hell of a lot better at flying in to some isolated spot in the dead of night. That’s what I know. That’s what I’m good at. That’s what I should be doing.”

  “Did you ever think that if you were still doing that, you wouldn’t be here for Matthew now, like you weren’t here for him his first two years of life.”

  It was harsh, but it stopped him.

  “You’re right. I should have been there–for Matthew and you.”

  “What’s important is how you’ll be here for him now. As for me–” A memory of being wrapped in strong arms flashed through her. She blinked it away. “–I’ve done fine.”