The Way Home (17 page)

“I’
M THINKING YOU
made a great nurse. You have healing hands. Very healing hands,” Ty murmured into the pillow as he lay on his stomach on the bed, enjoying Jess’s back and shoulder massage.

It had become a nightly event this past week. One he looked forward to—among other things—at the end of each day. Currently, she straddled his thighs, and even without seeing her, he knew that the straps on her short black silk and lace nightgown were giving her trouble. The thought of that soft, tan skin made it difficult to stay on his stomach. The massage, however, proved great enticement to stay put. She really did have magic hands.

On the second day after he’d returned, she’d finally quit hassling him about fixing things for her. Not that she’d given in easily. They’d more or less agreed to disagree when she’d finally accepted that he was as stubborn as she was. There were so many things that needed to be done that he never ran out of projects. Today he’d found a gallon of paint in her hall closet marked “Kitchen,” so he’d painted the room for her. The woman had too much on her plate. He liked lightening her load.

And she liked pampering him because of it. A win-win any way you sliced it.

“I saw a float plane buzz the store on the way to the lake today,” he said sleepily. “What’s the story there?”

She squirted more lotion on her hands and went to work on his lower back. “That would be Wade Cummings. He flies charters into fishing camps on Crane and Rainy Lakes. Keeps him busy most of the summer and even into the winter. Some
of these guys can’t get enough, so he switches out the pontoons with sleds and flies in groups for ice fishing.”

“He the only game in town?”

“He is now. A guy out of Vermillion, about forty miles south of here, ran his own charter, but he retired last year.”

He didn’t say anything else, but he was thinking. A lot. Maybe someone ought to start another charter business. Maybe that someone should be him. Key West Air Cargo might need to diversify. But it was still early in this game. He and Jess were still getting to know each other—at least, she was getting to know him. He knew all that he needed to know about her.

He also knew that he was falling for her. Falling hard and fast, growing more enamored by the day with this independent, hardworking woman who had taken so much on her slim shoulders and bore the weight without complaint or a hint of self-pity over the hits life had given her. She was a survivor. She was a siren. And he hoped like hell that one day soon, she’d acknowledge and accept that there was no need for barriers between them.

The problem was, they seemed to be going backward in that area. She’d let him into her bed, yes, let him into her home, but she’d made it clear—more in deed than in words—that she was determined not to let him into her heart.

In bed, she was adventurous, exciting, and surprisingly trusting. Out of bed was a different story. Instead of opening up to him, she’d started holding back. It was almost as if she’d realized she was letting herself get involved with him and put on the skids.

OK. Fine. If she needed more time, he had time to give. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not even after he’d accidentally discovered what must have been her husband’s truck lovingly covered and stored in the large shed behind the store. He’d looked beneath
the tarp. It was a newer-model Chevy, all tricked out, not even two thousand miles on the odometer. Yet she drove a ten-year-old Taurus with more than a hundred thousand miles on it.

Letting go was not something she did easily. Loyalty was not something she took lightly.

“Tell me about these,” she said softly, as her fingers gently massaged the surgical scar tissue on his lower spine. “And this.” She touched his bicep and the scar there.

He’d felt the softness of her fingertips on his scars often during the night. Had known these questions wouldn’t hold much longer. Actually, he’d been surprised she hadn’t asked before now. A month ago, the day they’d gone kayaking, she’d asked, but he’d avoided answering. He hadn’t wanted to rehash the injuries. But now she’d asked again. He didn’t miss the significance. If she really wanted to erect barriers to avoid emotional intimacy, she wouldn’t have brought it up again. Which meant he needed to bite the bullet and spill it if there was any hope she’d eventually do the same.

It wouldn’t be easy. Recounting the way a man earned a Purple Heart and a Silver Star never was.

“The short of it is, I was flying away from a combat zone with casualties onboard. We were clear, so our air cover had left. Then we weren’t clear anymore.”

Her hands stilled. “You got shot down?”

“Job hazard. An RPG blew the chopper’s tail rotor off. Not the preferred method of meeting the ground from too damn many feet above it.”

“You crash-landed?” She sounded horrified.

“Pretty much, yeah.” With a little maneuvering on both of their parts, he managed to turn onto his back so he could see her face. Her beautiful, troubled face.

He stroked her arms and met her eyes in the dim bedroom light. “Hey. Don’t look like that. I’m here. I’m OK.”

Her hands rested on his chest. “You were hurt.”

“Me and a lot of others. Some more than hurt.”

He’d lost his copilot and his gunner. Wives had lost husbands. Children had lost fathers. She didn’t need to hear that. She’d already lived that.

“Anyway, we had a bit of a hard landing, and the welcome wagon didn’t exactly greet us.”

“And your air support was gone. You had no weapons.”

“We had rifles. And handguns.” Rocks. Pieces of the bird. They’d used everything they could gather to defend their position.

“The scar on your arm. It’s a gunshot wound, isn’t it?”

He felt torn between loving that she felt such empathy for him and concern that she gave too much importance to something that had happened a long time ago. But when a woman had lost a husband to war, there were questions that would always remain unanswered.

“You go to war. You get shot at,” he said, shrugging it off.

Only none of it was as casual as he wanted to sound. He’d survived the crash, but it hadn’t ended there. They’d been sitting ducks. The only reason he was alive today was that the radio hadn’t gone the way of the tail rotor. He’d been slammed through the windshield on impact and thrown out of the chopper. Walking hadn’t been an option—exquisite pain from several herniated discs and a couple of cracked vertebrae made it impossible. So he’d dragged himself back into the cockpit and called in air support. Directed them “danger close”—within two hundred meters with smart weapons and three hundred meters with unguided weapons.

For a while there, he’d been more afraid of friendly fire taking them out than of Saddam’s Royal Guard—although one of the bastards had nailed his arm.

“End result, I herniated a few discs. No biggie. Surgery fixed them, and now I’m good as new.”

More like good as it was going to get, even after two surgeries and months of grueling physical therapy, but she didn’t need to know that, either.

“No biggie? You could have been paralyzed. You could have died.”

“But I didn’t.” He touched a palm to her cheek. “I didn’t die, Jess.”

“No. But your naval career did. The injuries are the reason your career was cut short, aren’t they?”

He breathed deep. He didn’t like thinking about this. “A grounded pilot isn’t much good to the military, and the Navy docs wouldn’t clear me to fly.” Another crash or even a hard landing might cause permanent paralysis. His CO had put the paperwork for a medical discharge in the works before he’d even gotten out of the hospital.

Flying for the military and flying for himself, however, were two entirely different things. He’d had no difficulty passing the physical to get his civilian flight license.

“I’m sorry.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the center of his chest.

“For everything there is a season . . . For every rhyme there is a reason.”

She smiled against his skin. “Making up your own verses, I see.”

Her smile was his cue. Time to lighten things up. For both of them.

“I like making things up as I go. For instance, how about we get rid of this?” He tugged the straps of her gown down her arms. The soft fabric caught on her nipples before spilling around her hips. She was so stunningly beautiful. “Let’s see what else we can make up as we go along.”

W
hat would you think about
moving the display holding your souvenir items against the wall, then sliding the cubbies full of T-shirts and sweatshirts into a central aisle in their place?”

Ty had been after Jess all morning to take a break from her book work and walk this idea through with him.

“The truth is, I’ve been wanting to do that, but—”

“You never had the time.” He finished the well-used phrase for her.

“Don’t look so smug.”

“Permission to proceed?”

“If you’re looking for an ‘Aye-aye, sailor,’ you’re not going to get it from me.”

He laughed. “And if you don’t want me to do it, speak now, or forever hold your peace. Some of this stuff is so small it’s easy to slip into a pocket, and these shelves are out of view of your mirrors.”

He’d given her more than a hard time over her less than state-of-the-art surveillance system this past week. Jess knew it was lacking, but then, this wasn’t exactly the city, where shoplifting was a major problem. This was the north woods. People came here with relaxation, not petty larceny, on their minds.

“You’re going to do what you want to do anyway, so what difference does it make if I say no?”

“Hey.” He gripped her arm and gently turned her to face him. “This is your business. You make the calls. Period. I’m not trying to intrude, you know that. Right? I’m not trying to run your show, Jess. You say the word, and I leave things as is. I’ll find something that needs to be fixed. Lord knows, that’s a never-ending list.”

Because he looked and sounded so concerned that she would think he was interfering, she smiled at him. “As if I’d ever let you get by with messing in my business. Knock yourself out. If you need an extra hand, give me a yell.”

“I need an extra hand,” he said, all low and sexy. Then he guided said hand to his heart. “Here.” Then to his lips. “Here. Wanna know where else?”

She was laughing at the suggestive gleam in his eyes when the bell above the door rang—and then she wasn’t laughing anymore.

Brad
. J.R.’s brother had made himself scarce ever since Ty had returned. Jess had been intending to call him or even go see him. Give him a heads-up about Ty so he wouldn’t be blindsided. But she’d known it would be ugly, so she’d put it off. The anger in Brad’s eyes was the main reason.

She’d been dreading this—and she’d known he’d show up, because the grapevine had to be working overtime with news
of the stranger staying with J.R.’s wife in the apartment above the store.

She had hoped that when this time came, Ty would be off on an errand. She had desperately hoped that when Brad did show up, he wouldn’t see them in a compromising position.

So far, she was batting zero for two.

She slowly pulled her hand away from Ty’s and walked across the store to meet her brother-in-law.

“You’ve been a stranger,” she said, hoping to avoid a confrontation between the two men by heading Brad off at the proverbial pass. “Everything OK with you?”

Brad had not looked at her since he’d walked through the door. His angry gaze had fixed on Ty like a laser-guided missile with one intent: destroy the man in its path.

Judging from the silence in Ty’s general direction, he was very much aware that something significant was about to happen.

“Let me get you a cup of coffee.” She stepped in front of Brad, determined to distract him from something that could come to no good.

“I don’t want your coffee. I don’t want anything from you.”

Brad shouldered around her and walked directly toward Ty.

“Brad—”

“It’s OK, Jess.” Ty held out a hand. “You must be J.R.’s brother.”

Brad stopped, shoulders square, feet spread wide, directly in front of Ty. He ignored Ty’s extended hand. “And you must be the lowlife shacking up with my brother’s wife.”

“Brad!” Jess rushed to step between them. “If you came here looking for a fight, turn around and go right back out the door.”

“It’s OK, Jess,” Ty said again softly. “I’ve got this. Go finish what you were doing.”

“Yeah, Jess,” Brad said bitterly. “Do what the man says. The way I hear it, he’s pretty much running the show around here. Taking care of this. Taking care of that. Taking care of you.”

“That’s enough.” Ty got right in Brad’s face. “You got a bone to pick with me? Fine. But you’re not going to disrespect Jess.”

“I don’t have to. She took care of that when she opened her door and her legs to you.”

Jess gasped at the insult and anger in Brad’s voice. And she could see in Ty’s eyes that he was mad as hell at Brad’s goading.

“This is how your brother would want you to treat her?” Ty challenged with a calm that stunned her. Before Brad could counter, Ty leveled another verbal blow. “I didn’t know your brother. But I was deployed to Iraq the same time he was. I knew of him. Knew of his unit. Knew what a stand-up group of soldiers they were. Hell, they were legends. Every last one of them.