Guarding the Soldier's Secret (18 page)

Hunt had set Laila down, and she was hopping excitedly around him, still clinging to his hand while she chattered about how she knew he would come, and he must come and see her goats, and guess what? She can ride a horse now because Grandpa Sam taught her, and there are kittens in the barn, and he must come and see them, too.

Yancy stood hugging herself, watching the two of them go off together, one pulling the other along like a tugboat towing an ocean liner. Neither one looked back.

“Would you like a ride to the house?” Josie asked, leaning across to call through the open passenger’s-side window.

Yancy nodded. She took a deep breath and climbed into the SUV. Neither she nor Josie spoke on the way to the villa, while Yancy sat very still and willed the tears lurking behind her eyes not to fall.

* * *

Laila had never been so happy. She could hardly believe Akaa Hunt was really
here
. At Grandpa Sam’s house!

At first she could hardly believe it was really him, though, because he didn’t have his beard. When she asked him why, he told her it was because he was in America now, and in America most men didn’t have beards. Which Laila didn’t think was true, because she’d seen plenty of men who had beards. Lots of the cowboys on Grandpa Sam’s ranch did.

But that didn’t matter, because he was
here
.

He was even going to stay over and sleep here. She knew that because she’d heard Josie invite him, and he had said yes. His room was right across the courtyard from hers and Mom’s room. When she thought about that, her stomach felt fluttery, which she thought was mostly happiness. But maybe a little bit of scared, too, because—well, because Akaa Hunt would leave again, like he always did. Why did he always have to leave?

If Akaa Hunt would only stay, Laila thought, everything would be perfect. She could live here with Mom and Akaa Hunt, and the goats and kittens and horses and chickens, and Sam and Josie, and Rachel’s baby, and everybody. It would be so...perfect. She would be happy
forever
.

“Honey, are you through brushing your teeth?” Mom called.

“Yes, I’m coming,” Laila said. She rinsed her toothbrush and stood it up in the cup on the counter beside the sink, then splashed some water on her face and scrubbed it with the towel so that most of the dirt came off. She wiped her hands on her T-shirt nightgown and went into the bedroom. Mom had already turned down the bedclothes and was waiting for her. She took a flying leap and landed in the nice cool sheets, then wiggled down under the light blanket Mom pulled up to her chin.

Mom leaned down to kiss her good-night on the forehead, like she always did, and Laila put her arms around Mom’s neck and hugged her tightly. She’d already gotten a big hug from Akaa Hunt when she’d said good-night to everyone, but she closed her eyes and just for a moment thought about what it would be like if Akaa Hunt was there, too, standing right beside Mom. She opened her eyes and looked into Mom’s eyes and thought they seemed a little bit sad. And she thought maybe, just maybe, if Akaa Hunt stayed forever, it would be perfect for Mom, too.

Maybe... Oh, I wish. I wish...

“Did you say your prayers?” Mom asked.

Laila nodded.

Wishes were the same as prayers, weren’t they?

* * *

Yancy was finding it impossible to sleep, which came as no surprise to her at all. It was a warm night—no surprise there, either—and more humid than nights usually were in that valley so close to the Mojave Desert. The moonlight revealed that Laila had thrown off even the sheet and was sleeping on her back with her arms outflung rather than curled on her side as she usually did. Yancy’s throat tightened as she remembered the joy on that little girl’s face when she’d heard Josie invite Hunt to stay at the villa. And the smile that stayed on her face even into sleep.

It’s all so simple
, Yancy thought.
For a child.
She loved her “uncle” Hunt, and he was here, and for now that was all that mattered.

She sat on the edge of her bed and raked her fingers through her sweat-damp hair, then rose and walked to the French doors that opened onto the courtyard. They were closed now, of course, since it was so warm outside and the air-conditioning was going full blast. Silently she opened the door and was about to step out onto the veranda when she remembered she was wearing only a flimsy nightgown that was little more than a shift. She shrugged into the light cover-up she’d worn the night she’d gone to meet Hunt by the pool and stepped into a pair of sandals, since the paths in the courtyard, though flagstone, were sometimes strewn with leaves and flower debris. She slipped quietly into the moonlit night.

The air, soft with humidity, reminded her of Virginia’s summer nights—without the racket of cicadas and the whip-poor-will that used to sing its little heart out in the woods behind her grandparents’ house. Here there was only a faint rustling of leaves stirred by the hint of a breeze and a dog barking far down in the valley somewhere.

And something else, something more felt than heard.

She stood still and waited, and after a moment, a shadow separated itself from the veranda across the courtyard and moved into the moonlight.

“You couldn’t sleep, either.” It wasn’t a question, spoken so softly it was almost indistinguishable from the night sounds. Almost.

Yancy laughed as softly and pulled the cover-up around her, hugging it across her waist as she walked to him with slow, careful steps. Her legs felt oddly unreliable. “It’s the humidity,” she said. “I’d forgotten how sticky it feels. At night. Especially.”

“Yes,” he said. “Care to walk with me? There’s more of a breeze, I think—” his head moved, pointing “—out there.”

“Sure.” She drew in a silent breath. “We can go through the living room, the front door. The doors aren’t alarmed.”

“I know. Remember?”

There was a hint of a smile in his voice, and she could almost see his grin—cocky, confident, charming. She hugged herself more tightly and led the way to the set of French doors that opened into the living room, where a reading lamp had been left on, the same one that had been burning the night she’d heard the news broadcast about the death of an Afghan tribal leader. Only a few days ago. So much had happened, it seemed much longer.

In silence they walked through the room and entryway, through the heavy front doors and down the flagstone steps, across the circle drive and down the lane. The moonlight was bright enough to cast their shadows onto the paved road before them. And Hunt was right—there was more of a breeze here. It came down out of the canyon to the north, carrying with it the smell of pine and just a hint of rain. Yancy felt oddly exposed in that bright moonlight, with the breeze lifting her hair and brushing the hem of her cover-up against the backs of her legs. She was glad when they reached the trees and were once more in shadows.

He walked so silently, she thought. She was so intensely aware of him it seemed as though she could hear his heart beating, hear the swish of the blood through his veins. Feel the energy shimmering from his body like heat waves on a summer afternoon. Tuned to him as she was, when he broke the silence it felt like a thunderclap, a percussion in her ears, even though he spoke in barely a murmur.

“For what it’s worth, I did miss you, you know.” She jerked her head toward him and he laughed softly, as if he could see the look on her face. “Okay, not every minute of every day, obviously.” They walked on a few paces in silence. “But I thought of you.” He stopped walking and made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “More often than I wanted to, actually.”

She’d stopped walking, too. She didn’t look at him and was pretty sure he wasn’t looking at her, and for uncounted seconds they stood there, side by side in silence in the moonlight. Around them the night sang with tension.

She thought again how much her perception of him had changed, how he seemed to her now... And once again she struggled to find a way to define the difference. Because it was a contradiction, somehow, that he could seem both less invincible and yet every bit as powerful, less superhero and yet even more masculine. More—oh, much more—
real
.

A shiver coursed through her.

Hunt felt it—of course he would—and turned slightly toward her. He touched her arm. “Are you cold? Do you want—”

She shook her head. Her body felt stiff, clumsy, and seemed to rock with the force of her heartbeats. She lifted one hand to touch his shirtfront, and his hand closed around her elbow and drew her closer, while the other hand came to cup the side of her face. She flattened her palm against his chest, spread her fingers and felt the warmth of his body through the fabric as her other hand rose to lie along his jaw, feeling the rasp of a day’s growth of beard. All this seemed to happen in slow motion while her mind raced in circles like a panic-stricken rabbit.

I shouldn’t do this. It will only make things worse.

But I want this! I’ve wanted this for so long!

His head came between hers and the moonlight. With her eyes closed, she felt the warm brush of his lips on her forehead. Tears burned the backs of her eyelids.

I have to be sensible. I have Laila to think of now. Her needs come first.

But what about me? What about what I want? What I need?

Oh, how she hated for him to know her vulnerability, but she couldn’t stop herself from trembling. His lips moved from her forehead to hover over her mouth, then paused, held motionless there by his hand on her face and her hand on his. She drew a small sip of air that was more like a whimper or a sigh.

Oh, God, I need this. I need him. I need.

He took her mouth gently at first, but it was as if a dam burst inside her, drowning all rational thought, all sensible resolve. So clearly she remembered the very first time he’d kissed her, when the need had been so strong and fierce in him and the kiss had been like wildfire through tinder. She had opened herself to him without question then, given to him without reservation.

Had she loved him even then?

Who knew? Did it even matter?

And now it seemed the need was in her. She needed him desperately, maybe the more so for knowing there was no future for them, not a happy one, anyway, just a future of brief visits and long absences, and a little girl with longing in her eyes.

Yes, he knew the need was hers, and this time, as she had done for him so long ago, it was he who answered without holding anything back.

He wasn’t sure what made it different from when he’d kissed her earlier today, in the barn, and he’d been the one to pull them both back from the brink. Maybe it was just about sex, like she’d said, but right now that didn’t seem to matter to him all that much. Maybe it was just as simple a thing as that he was one hell of a hungry man who’d been without a woman for way too long. And maybe it was as complicated as the feelings he had for her that he didn’t understand, mostly because he didn’t want to. Or then again, maybe he was beginning to think that, much as he wanted more, sex was all there was ever going to be between them, and if that was the way it had to be, then so be it.

None of that was conscious thought in the moment that he hesitated with his mouth just a breath away from hers and her palm measured his heartbeat. He’d meant to be gentle, to start off slowly, keep some semblance of control over the situation. But then he heard the soft sound she made just before he kissed her and felt the same twisting pain in his chest as earlier when he’d tasted her tears. It took away his breath. Feeling like a drowning man surfacing for one last gasp of air, he drove his fingers into her hair and held her head cradled in his palm, turning her face up to his. He felt her mouth open to him and let go of every reservation, every lifeline, every rational thought. He let it all go.

It
was
a little like drowning. And it was a little like peace.

He came to himself sometime later—he had no idea how much later—realizing they were standing in the middle of a tree-lined lane deep in moon shadow, holding on to each other like survivors of some great cataclysm. He’d been through bombings and shellings and firefights and couldn’t remember ever feeling quite like this.
Shaky. Dazed.

They both spoke at once, the same word, the same inarticulate question.

“What—”

They both broke off without finishing, laughing a little.

What the hell was that?

What are we going to do about this?

“I don’t—” Once again they said it together.

“You first,” Hunt growled.

After a pause, she tipped back her head and looked at him, catching the moon’s reflection in her eyes. “I don’t feel like walking anymore.”

“Funny,” he said. “That’s what I was going to say.”

“You were not.” Her voice was bumpy; she felt quivery with a strange mixture of laughter, excitement and something very much like fear. She tried to remember what it had felt like the first time she’d ever been with a man—no, a boy, really—but she couldn’t, it had been so long ago. But she thought—she remembered—it must have felt something like this.

“Okay, then I wish I’d said it.” He kissed her again, his tongue doing things to her mouth that made her body remember with every sense and cell what it had felt like to have him inside her. Her head swam and her legs grew weak. He tore his mouth from hers at last and pulled her closer, one hand pressing her lower back, bringing her tightly against the heat and hardness of his body. His lips moved on her forehead. “I know one thing, though. We can’t go on standing here like this.”

“No.” She said it on a breath of shaken laughter.

When had her hands come to be inside his shirt, roving hungrily over hills and valleys of rock-hard muscle, finding ridges and dimples of old scars, once so familiar, now rediscovered with an ache in her throat that felt strangely like homecoming?

Words came tumbling, whispered, breathless.

“Where can we—”

“Not the house.”