Against the Sky (32 page)

“I don't want you to go,” Nick said. “I want you to stay here with me.”

She was trembling. She knew he could feel it, but she couldn't manage to stop. Dear God, she loved him so much. “Nick, please don't . . .”

A long sigh whispered out. Nick kissed her softly one last time and set her gently back down in the passenger seat. “I understand. I really do. I just . . . I wish things could be different.”

Her throat ached. She wanted to tell him she loved him so badly, she had to press her lips together to hold back the words. If she told him, he'd push her even harder to stay.

But the straight truth was, if she stayed it would only make both of them unhappy. If not now, then six months from now, or a year. Sooner or later, the differences between them would ruin both their lives.

Nick settled back in the driver's seat and pulled the car out on the road. They didn't talk again until she was standing in the terminal, checked-in and ready to go through security, where Nick couldn't follow.

“I'll call you when you get home,” he said.

She just nodded.

“E-mail me, okay? Let me know you're all right?”

Another brief nod. She couldn't take much more. She reached up and cupped his cheek, looked into his dear, handsome face, went up on her toes and pressed a last desperate kiss on his beautiful mouth.

“I'll never forget you, Nick Brodie.” Fighting a fresh round of tears, she grabbed the handle of her carry-on and ran for the security gate. She was on her way home.

Samantha couldn't stop crying.

Nick had never been so eager to begin a new job. He was going stir-crazy sitting around the house. Being there without Samantha just felt wrong. Every time he looked at the curtains over his kitchen window, his chest squeezed so hard it hurt.

Sensing his dark mood, Cord had come over last night. They'd sat up drinking beer till midnight, then Cord had fallen asleep on the sofa.

Feeling groggy and out of sorts, Nick wandered into the kitchen the next morning and made a pot of coffee. As the aroma of the dark brew drifted into the living room, Cord roused himself. Nick heard the sound of bare feet padding toward the kitchen.

Cord yawned and raked a hand through his dark blond hair, making it stand on end. He was wearing his jeans, but his chest was still bare.

Nick didn't look any better in his brown terrycloth robe, a heavy beard along his jaw from two days without shaving. Worse yet, he'd had one of his bloody nightmares last night, something that had only happened once the entire time he'd been with Samantha.

“Do me a favor,” Cord said with another yawn. “Shoot me and put me out of my misery.”

Nick just grunted, poured a cup of coffee, and handed it to his friend.

“I look bad,” Cord said, “but you look worse. I just have a hangover. You've got the dog-sick look of a man in love.”

Nick's stomach churned. There was no use denying it. “You're right. I figured that out when I saw her standing next to that big goon with his gun pressed into her ribs.” He took a long drink of his coffee.

“So why don't you do something about it?”

“Because it wouldn't work. Samantha hates it here and I sure as hell don't want to live in San Francisco. Aside from that, we're about as different as two people can get. Can you imagine Samantha on a fishing trip or flying into the wilderness to camp for the weekend?”

“No. I can't see that happening.” Cord scrubbed his head, then finger-combed his hair. “But somehow the two of you just seemed to fit.”

They fit all right. In bed. Which was exactly what had gotten him into trouble in the first place. “Like I said, it wouldn't work. Now drop it, will you?”

“Take it easy, okay? I was just trying to help.”

“You helped me get a job. I start in a couple of hours, by the way.”

“You're right. Best way to forget a woman is to get your ass back to work.”

“Exactly. Which reminds me, I need to get going.”

Cord downed his coffee. “I've got to get on the road myself. You know, if you like the job, you might be able to hire on permanently, if that's what you want.”

Was it? He didn't have a clue. “I'll think about it.” But at the moment all he seemed able to think about was Samantha and how much he missed her.

Nick downed his coffee, waved good-bye to his friend, and headed for the shower. Maybe work would get his mind off the woman he couldn't have and help him start putting his life back together.

Nick wished he could make himself believe it.

 

 

After a weekend trip to visit her parents in Sacramento, Samantha was back in her apartment. She had cleared the air and her conscience, told her family about Las Vegas and meeting Nick, summoned her courage and told them about the baby and how terrible she'd felt when she had lost it.

She'd told them about her grand Alaskan adventure, about being shot at, being abducted and held by the Russian mob. About how Nick Brodie had risked his life to save her.

“I don't know whether to shake the man's hand for saving your life,” her father said darkly, “or shoot the sonofabitch for putting my little girl in that kind of danger.”

Samantha laughed. It had happened so rarely since her return, the sound came out rusty. “Nick's a wonderful man, Daddy. I'll never meet anyone like him again.”

She went on to tell them how protective he was, how smart and brave. How he'd sat by her side in the hospital, devastated because she had lost the baby. When she looked over at her mother, Isabel Hollis was frowning.

“Are you sure you're talking about a man and not some super hero?”

Samantha smiled. “I didn't make him up. He's more than real, I assure you.”

Her mom, a slightly taller, more buxom version of herself, with the same light brown hair, watched her closely. “Listening to you talk about him, it sounds very much like you're in love with him.”

Samantha's heart squeezed. She fought the burn of tears. “It doesn't matter, Mom. We're just too different to ever make it work. We both agree about that.”

Her mother reached over and caught her hand. “Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.”

Samantha went into her mother's arms. She found herself crying and couldn't seem to stop. Her father, a mild-mannered man with a better-than-average understanding of women, quietly excused himself, leaving them alone.

“I love him,” Samantha said. “I think I'll always love him.” Her mother wiped away a tear of her own and held her daughter tighter.

She'd recover, Samantha knew. Broken hearts didn't kill you. You just wished you were dead.

On Saturday, she and her mom went shopping at the Arden Fair Mall, where they met her brother Peter for lunch at Seasons 52. Mostly Peter talked about his girlfriend, Heather, and the happier he seemed to be, the worse Samantha felt.

She left for home early Sunday morning. At least she had settled things with her mom and dad. And once she went back to work, she told herself, she could begin to get over Nick.

 

 

Nick stood next to a black Cadillac SUV with the words
ANCHORAGE LIMOUSINE
printed in gold on the side. The limo was there, along with him and another bodyguard, to haul Bill Foley's wife and kids around Anchorage.

Susan Foley was midthirties, dark-haired and attractive. Her daughter, Sarah, four years old, had dark brown hair like her mom, but it lay in rowdy curls all over her head. The little boy was three, chubby, and constantly grinning. They were great kids.

Nick felt a pang whenever he looked at them. By this time next year, he could have had a kid of his own. He could have been a father. For the first time in his life, he realized he wanted a family. A wife and kids like Bill Foley's. It wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

Nick moved away from the vehicle, his gaze searching the landscape, surveying the area around the house the Realtor was showing Bill's wife, a big, expensive log home on a small, private lake that came with the property.

His partner, Roy Wilson, was inside with the family. Nick took another lap around the house, checking the perimeter, but the area was secure.

The early winter storm that had dogged his days with Samantha had been replaced by a forty-five degree, brilliantly sunny day. Nick looked up at the clear blue sky and silently cursed his bad luck. The good weather didn't do him any good now that Samantha was gone.

The kids ran out of the house, followed by Susan, then Roy. Bill loved his family. Along with the billions he was worth came any number of threats to his wife and children. Bill was careful where they were concerned and Nick didn't blame him.

He opened the door of the SUV, and the kids climbed into the far backseat. Roy got in front with the driver, and Nick slid in after Susan.

“Beautiful house,” he said, just to make conversation.

“Gorgeous.” Susan looked at the log home through the windows as the limo drove away. “But we'd only be using it in the summer. It's just too hard living up here in the winter.”

Thinking of Samantha, Nick settled back against the seat. “Yeah. Alaska definitely isn't for everyone.”

“No, it really isn't. Bill loves it though. Me, I don't know. Summer would be okay, I guess.”

“It's really pretty in summer,” Nick said. But his mood had soured for the rest of the day.

A week later, the family left to return to their home in Seattle, and Nick was once more out of a job. Worse yet, now that he had spent time with the Foley kids, he felt Samantha's loss even more.

To make matters worse, every time he called, her cell phone went straight to voice mail. He left messages asking her to call him back, but so far, he'd had no word. No e-mail he'd sent had been answered. Nothing.

Clearly Samantha was avoiding him. She didn't want to see him, and knowing she was probably right to make a clean break didn't make him feel any better.

He was sitting on the sofa in his living room, brooding and feeling sorry for himself, when a familiar knock came at the door. Since it wasn't locked, his brother Rafe walked into the living room.

“What's going on?” Rafe said.

“What do you mean?”

“Every time I call, you're too busy to talk. You've got one excuse after another. I figured the only way we were going to have a conversation was for me to drive up from Valdez.”

Nick didn't bother to get up from the sofa. “Fine. You're here. Go ahead and talk.”

Rafe grunted. “So I'm not imagining things. You're avoiding me, and I have a feeling it has something to do with Samantha Hollis. Right?”

“So what?” he growled. “She had to go home. We both knew she'd be leaving in a couple of weeks.”

Rafe set his hands on his hips and glowered down at him. “I told you not to do anything stupid. Obviously you didn't listen.”

Irritation trickled through him. He was the youngest Brodie, but he hadn't let either of his brothers talk to him that way in years. “What do you want?”

“I want to know why you let her go. Clearly you're in love with her. Did you bother to tell her that?”

Nick shot to his feet. “Dammit, Rafe, this isn't any of your business.”

“Since you aren't denying it, I assume it's true. You're in love with Samantha Hollis. Crazy in love from the hangdog look on your face.”

Nick glanced away. He loved her. He just couldn't have her.

His brother sat down in the chair and Nick sank back down on the sofa. “You can fix this, you know,” Rafe said, the harshness gone out of his voice. “It isn't too late.”

Nick sighed. Clearly the only way he was going to get his brother to leave him alone was to tell him the truth. “All right, fine, you want to talk? Here it is. I'm in love with Samantha. I'd marry her in a heartbeat if I thought there was a snowball's chance in hell she'd say yes. She won't. She hates it up here. She's a homemaker, not an adventurer. She doesn't like any of the things I like to do. Get it?”

Rafe seemed unconvinced. “That's it? The two of you are different?”

“That's plenty, don't you think?”

Rafe's deep voice softened even more. “Samantha is everything you've ever wanted in a woman, Nick. I can't believe you haven't figured that out.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ever since Mom died, you've wanted a home. A real home with a family of your own. It was one of the reasons you joined the Rangers. You wanted to belong. The Rangers were your family. Some of them still are.”

“That's crazy. I had you and Dylan. I had a great dad.”

“Four men living in a house together isn't the same and you know it. I knew Samantha was the woman for you when I walked in here and saw those curtains at your window. You loved them. I could see it in your face. You liked that she had done that, helped you make the place feel cozy. You liked that she cooked for you, that she made your house into a home. And you wanted that baby she was carrying. You can't deny it, Nick.”

His chest tightened. Rafe had always been too damned perceptive. “You're right, I wanted it. It took me a while to get used to the idea, but yeah, I wanted the baby. I'd like to have a couple of kids someday.”

“And a wife you love who loves you in return.”

“Dammit, yes! I'd like to have a family. What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing's wrong with it. So why not now? Why not with Samantha?”

His chest was aching. He wished his brother would shut up and leave. “Because she won't live here, okay? And I can't make it in San Francisco. I could never be happy there.”

“So find someplace else. A compromise. If she really loves you, she'll jump at the chance to make it work.”

Nick said nothing.

“Come on, little brother. If this is what you want, go after it the way you have everything else you ever wanted.”

Nick looked up at his oldest brother, one of the strongest, most solid men he had ever known. He thought of Samantha, his mind spinning, trying to figure out the logistics, see if there was any way he could make it work.

Rafe was still sitting there, waiting patiently for him to figure out he was right. As usual. Well, it wasn't the first time his brother had come up with a good idea, but it just might be the best one he'd ever had.

“Seattle might work,” Nick said. “It's rainy there, but it rains in San Francisco, right?”

“That's right. There're some big, beautiful mountains around, and if you get a little ways out of the city, there're pine trees all over.”

“I've been there. I liked it. And there's plenty of work.”

Rafe started nodding, beginning to get where he was going. “You're thinking of Ian. He's got the kind of job you were made for, and he'd be damned lucky to have you.”

His cousin owned Brodie Operations, Security Services, Inc. “Boss, Inc.” they called it, a company that specialized in private investigation, personal security, anything that required operatives with law enforcement backgrounds. The rich, dot-com folks were Ian's biggest clients. His cousin had always said there was a job waiting if Nick ever wanted it.