Guarding the Soldier's Secret (19 page)

“No—the barn?”

“Too far. I don’t think I can—”

“What’s this place?” He was looking past her at the long white stucco building with the red-tile roof she’d walked past so many times on her way to and from the barn.

She turned to look. “I don’t know. A garage, I think.”

They left the road and walked together, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist, feeling their way through the tree shadows, crunching awkwardly through a drift of dry leaves and pine needles.

* * *

From a window in his room high in the bell tower, Sam watched the two dark figures meld into one and a few moments later turn from the road to disappear behind the garage. He curled his arthritic old fingers into a fist and thumped the windowsill twice in sadness and frustration.

“Damn kids,” he muttered. “Got no sense. I tried to tell her it wasn’t ever gonna work. Not the way they are, too durn much like me. Don’t have a prayer.”

We made it work, didn’t we, Sam?

The whisper came from the room behind him, maybe only the wind stirring through the curtains. Maybe not. He heard those voices more and more often these days, but it didn’t trouble him much.

“Aw, Katie,” he answered with a sigh.
You married me for a child—you know you did.

Yes. And they have a child between them already. It’s not a bad reason to marry.

Ah, Katie. But when trouble came it wasn’t enough, was it? We’d have needed love to weather that storm.

Oh, Sam. There was love. Don’t you know that?

He waited for more, but the whispers were silent.

The moon’s shadows blurred and wavered before his eyes, and after a moment, he turned from the window. The tears didn’t bother him much, either; they came easily, these days.

Chapter 14

O
nce free of the trees, their feet found better purchase on a graveled drive that lay broad and silver in the moonlight, running along the length of the building on the side that faced away from the paved lane, paralleling the barbed-wire horse-pasture fence. On that side of the building there were five wide garage-type doors.

Hunt gave a low whistle. “A five-car garage. What do you suppose is in it?”

“Knowing Sam, it could be anything.” Her voice came raggedly with her uneven breaths.

“Shall we see?”

“If it’s not locked.”

“It won’t be.” He was already guiding her toward the regular-sized door closest to the end of the building. “I told you what the security for this place is like... There. See?” He pushed the door open into a well of darkness.

“No windows,” Hunt said. “But there’s probably a light switch—”

“No! No lights.” She felt vulnerable, on the verge of panic.

She heard the whisper of fabric and then he said, “How about this?” A pale light from the cell phone in his hand turned the blackness to shadows. For a few moments they both stood in silent awe.

Then Hunt gave a low laugh and said, “Wow.”

“Sometimes,” Yancy whispered, “I forget just how rich Sam is. When you meet him you’ll understand why.”

They walked down the row of automobiles, some shrouded in car covers, others in a layer of dust.

“Oh, my God,” Yancy said, “is that a Gullwing?”

“A Mercedes 300 SL? Yep, it is. And...” Hunt picked up the edge of one of the covers and laughed softly. “How would you feel about making out in a Rolls?”

“Intimidated. A Chevy is probably more my speed.”

“Yeah, me too. And there’s one of those here, too. Looks like a ’57 convertible.”

He looked at her, his golden eyes silvery in the cell phone’s dim glow. She looked back at him, breath held, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

After a moment, she heard him exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath, too. “Have you ever?”

“Have I ever...made out in a car?” She shook her head and laughed, feeling a little wistful. “I was the good twin, you know. My sister, Miranda, on the other hand...”

After a long pause he said, “Have we lost the moment?” His voice sounded regretful.

Her insides fluttered. “No, but maybe...lightened it a little?”

Gruffly he said, “I don’t know that I want it lightened. Do you?” He thumbed off the phone and darkness enveloped them in warmth and intimacy. She felt his hand on the nape of her neck, gently massaging. Then his breath on her forehead and the soft brush of his lips, with just the hint of beard stubble. Her breath caught, and a shiver she couldn’t control rippled through her.

“You’re shaking,” he said, turning his head to lay his cheek against her forehead. For some reason her shivers made his chest feel tight. An ache began to build in his throat. He wrapped his arms around her, as much for himself as for her.

“I don’t know why,” she said. “I seem to be—”

“Nervous?” His voice was raspy, like the purr of a lion. “It’s not like we haven’t done this before.”

“It’s been a long time, Hunt.” She stirred in his arms, tilting her face to his; he could feel her warm breath in the darkness. “It feels—”

“Strange?” It did for him. As if he was someone he didn’t know. Or someone he’d once known and had all but forgotten.

She shook her head. “Different. Just...different.”

Different. Because maybe, after all, it’s not just...sex?

He didn’t say it, because he really didn’t want to discuss it anymore. But it stayed in his mind, and for some reason it became important to him to prove her wrong about that.

But if not just sex, then what?

He didn’t know what to call the feelings inside him, but he knew those feelings were what made his hands gentle when he took her face between them and his mouth tender when he lowered it to hers. She made a soft sound when she opened to him, and that sound only made the feelings more intense, almost to the point of pain. He allowed the kiss to deepen, but slowly, oh so slowly, and heard her whimper and felt her arms come around his waist. Her head now rested in his palm, her hair so soft and slightly damp, and his other hand slipped under it to cradle the warm, moist nape of her neck. His muscles quivered with the strain of self-control.

She felt the tremor deep in his body, something she’d never ever imagined she would feel in this man. This was
Hunt Grainger
, the man who had seemed invincible, not quite human.
Superhuman.
And she had made him
tremble
? The thought might have given her a sense of power, but instead it was tenderness that filled her, taking her breath, bringing tears to her eyes.

Oh, God, I don’t want to love him. But I do.

With his fingers tangled in her hair, he pulled her head back, separating his mouth from hers, then coming back for another sip, then another, and finally, with a deep sigh, letting his lips touch her forehead instead. “I want to make love with you,” he murmured, the sound deep in his throat.

She nodded and whispered something that was not quite words.

“Do you understand?” he said. “Not sex. I want to make
love
to you.”

Out of the turbulence inside her she could think of only one word. “Yes.”

He caught her small sip of air with his mouth, the kiss so gentle, so all-consuming and yet so tender she wanted to weep. Shaken, she pulled her hands from around him and gripped his wrists, tearing her mouth from his. She buried her face in the hollow beneath his chin and felt his arms close tightly around her.

“Not here,” he growled. “Not in the backseat of a car.”

He turned from her then, keeping one arm around her to hold her close to his body. She felt his muscles gather and tense, heard the swish of fabric and felt the air move, cooling her hot cheeks. “Hold this,” he said, and she felt the shape of his cell phone in her hand. She thumbed it on and held it while he gathered the cover he’d pulled from the Chevy into a bundle under his arm. He looked down at her, his eyes gleaming in the silver light. “I want to love you. Make love to you. And I want plenty of room to do that. Okay?”

She nodded and wondered whether her legs would carry her to whatever place he had in mind. Her insides seemed to have melted, and pulses drummed their urgent demands deep and low in her body. But with his arm supporting her, she walked with him, out of the garage and across the graveled lane.

The moon was in the west now, and soon it would set behind the mountain. But for now there was enough light to guide Hunt to the barbed-wire fence. He tossed the car cover over, then held the wires spread so Yancy could crawl through easily before ducking through himself.

He didn’t think about what he was doing or whether or not he should. Now his mind was focused entirely on her and what he wanted.

Now. Just now.

Quickly she helped him spread the cover over the thick meadow grass. He knelt on the billowy softness and held up a hand to take hers and guide her down beside him. She knelt facing him, her hands going to the tie at the side of the cover-up thing she was wearing. She pulled on the tie and he took the two halves of the cover-up and pushed them over her shoulders. As it slid to the ground, she picked up the bottom edge of her nightshift and drew it up and over her head, leaving her naked except for a very small triangle of fabric. Her body was pale in the moonlight and so beautiful his breath caught in his throat. As she hooked her thumbs in the sides of the underpants, he moved his hands over her shoulders and down her arms, so that it was both their hands that pulled them off.

She leaned into him then, and his hands slid around to cup her buttocks as he lowered his mouth to the side of her neck. Her breath became a sigh. He could barely breathe at all, his heart was hammering so hard. It was becoming hard to remember why he’d wanted to take her here, outside in the open air where he would love her slowly and there was room to savor every moment. His own clothing felt like a prison, walls of fabric keeping him from the exquisite sensations of her body touching his, skin on skin. He growled in frustration.

“I want—” she whispered.

He replied, “I know,” then lowered her gently to the soft bed he’d made for her on the meadow grass.

He watched her belly move in and out with her breathing as he quickly disposed of his shirt and then his shoes, and finally shucked off his jeans and briefs. Her eyes were dark as they followed his every movement, and when he was naked, she lifted her arms to guide him down, not onto her but to lie beside her. He raised himself on one elbow and gazed into her eyes for a long moment while his hand stroked across the gentle concavity of her stomach to the soft mound below. Her eyes drifted closed, and she shifted her legs to allow him access to the sweet, hot places between them.

When he lowered his mouth to one breast, she felt his body quiver—from the strain, she thought, of holding himself back. And when she tangled her fingers in his hair and arched into his mouth, she was trembling, too.

When his fingers found her most tender places, the sensation was so sharp she gasped and would have closed her legs, but his hand kept her open to him. She whimpered and curled herself toward him, and he raised his head and tucked her face into the hollow of his neck while he murmured comforting things into her damp hair. His hand gently housed her softness in warmth and reassurance, and she could feel her pulse beating against the pressure of his fingers as they slowly pushed inside her.

The pressure inside her became unbearable. It seemed to be everywhere—in her belly and chest, in her breasts and throat, in the part of her that pulsed against his hand. She lifted her face to him, seeking blindly, and his mouth came down to fill hers, his tongue keeping the rhythm of his fingers as they slid deep inside her, then partly out again, stroking, teasing, driving her to the edge of sanity. She couldn’t stand it another second. Didn’t want it to end.

She sobbed...something, she didn’t know what, and he answered, “Shh...” as his weight moved over her, as his knees shoved hers aside, as the hot, hard part of him replaced his fingers and pushed deep inside her. He pushed deep and then stopped and held both of them still. Held them still while her body adjusted itself around him and her breathing became less frantic. He whispered, “Hush...softly now,” against her forehead, until the panic that had threatened to overwhelm her dissolved into sighs of pleasure.

He kissed her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, her mouth with such tenderness her throat ached and tears slipped beneath her eyelashes. He took the tears in his mouth, then carried them to hers. And then...slowly began to move inside her. So slowly...

She arched upward, her breathing quickening. And once again he gentled her down. Time after time he slowed and gentled her when she wanted more. Brought her back when she thought she surely couldn’t stand the exquisite agony another moment, when she raked her fingers down his back and gripped his buttocks and writhed against his strength, whimpering, pleading...

She barely knew when he quickened his thrusts, only that the pressure inside her was building beyond even his ability to control it, that she was certain she would come apart and fly into a million pieces and there was nothing she could do to stop it. And then she did come apart, and it was his arms and strength and weight and the deep growl of his voice that held her together, that held her while the cataclysms rocked her. Then held her while his own cataclysm claimed him and his body became rigid as steel, then liquid heat she felt deep inside. And finally, human flesh and blood once again, flesh that was slick with sweat beneath her hands, warm breath that gusted into her damp hair, a pulse that pounded against her own thumping heart. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, trembling and aching, not knowing whether the sounds that shook her were laughter or sobs.

She only knew she didn’t want to let him go. Knowing that this might be the last time she would ever hold him like this.

He wasn’t sure how long it was before he remembered how heavy he must be and tried to lift his weight off her. She held on to him a moment longer before letting her arms slip away from him, and he felt her body shudder as if in protest. Braced on his elbows, he took her face between his hands and kissed her and tasted tears.

“Yankee?” he whispered. “What’s wrong? Why are you—” He couldn’t believe how shaken he felt.

She gave her head one quick shake and tried to turn her face away. He refused to let her evade him, and at last she drew in a breath and whispered, “I’m not. I don’t know—it’s just—it’s been so long. I didn’t think—”

“I know,” he said on a long exhalation. “I know. I’m sorry.”

He was sorry. Sorry for all the times he’d come to her and taken the comfort she gave so freely and hadn’t thought to wonder why it was he’d felt such a need for her—and for her alone. Sorry for all the times he’d left her without telling her what he felt for her in his heart. Sorry he hadn’t known himself what it was he felt, until now. Sorry for the years he’d thought about her and let himself believe that thinking was enough.

He turned on his side and wrapped her in his arms, and she laid her head on his chest and snuggled as closely against him as it was possible to get. He felt a shiver ripple through her although it wasn’t cold, even though their bodies were damp with sweat. The air was warm and moist, and thunder rumbled somewhere not far off.

And he thought about the summers of his childhood in Nebraska.

He thought about summers that turned into autumns rich with the colors and smells of harvest, and county fairs, and pumpkin carving, and much too soon into long cold winters. Then spring with the trees blooming and grass growing and new babies of every kind and the threat of tornadoes that lasted into another long hot summer. The rolling of the seasons, endlessly, one after the other, ever changing, always the same. And the rhythm of the days, with animals that had to be fed and the cows milked and the ground tilled and the crops planted. Day after day, never changing. Like a carousel, he thought, going round and round, up and down, up and down.