Pieces of Broken Time (12 page)

Sometime before dawn, Jennifer sat upright with heart pounding and unsure why. It took a minute for her to recognize her surroundings. She heard a hoarse cry coming from somewhere in the hallway.

Blake
.

She fumbled out of bed. Her foot throbbed the moment she lowered her legs to the floor. She had forgotten where she’d left the crutches and rather than looking for them, she hopped on her good foot into the darkness and toward the sound.

Ignoring the pain radiating up her leg, she limped into the other room, and knelt down beside the couch. Jennifer placed a hand on his arm and gently nudged him.

Blake continued mumbling. His skin was sweaty to the touch.

She moved her hand to his shoulder and gave a vigorous shake. “Blake,” she whispered.

It took several shakes, but his eyes snapped open, and he grabbed her arm and twisted—hard.

“Ow! Blake, it’s me, Jennifer! You’re having a nightmare.”

Chapter 10

It took several seconds for the bright sand hill to fade into the darkened drywall of the familiar spare room, and even longer for Blake to loosen his grip on his M16 rifle and watch Jennifer slump to the floor.

She was gasping and looking plain scared.

“Jennifer, what are you doing here?” He shot off the couch in such a hurry that his skin burned at the sudden movement. He bellowed and contracted into a ball.

Spasticity was often taken for granted, and he kept forgetting that abrupt movements tended to stretch his skin beyond its limits. It was a sharp reminder that he had to stop foregoing his occupational therapy sessions.

Jennifer scrambled to her feet, using the couch as her crutch. “You were having a nightmare. I heard you from the bedroom.”

He saw her wide eyes and pale skin reflecting the faint glow of the nightlight. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, you just scared the hell out of me when you pulled that Steven Segal move.” She sat down on the edge of the sofa and slowed her breathing. “What’s going on, Blake? Is there anything I can do for you?”

Blake shook his head and crossed the room to turn on the lights. “Go back to your room, Jennifer.”

Jennifer squinted and, ignoring his order, asked, “What’s wrong? I’m sure it’s not all about counting sheep that caused the nightmare. Care to talk about it?”

Her concern caused his defensive wall to slam firmly into place. He’d rather not deal with compassion and tenderness. He despised being weak and helpless, and Jennifer’s voice was packed with healthy doses of the unwanted sympathy.

“I didn’t know you were a shrink. Not that I ever needed one.”

“C’mon, Blake, even big boys like you need to unload.”

He settled on the opposite end of the couch, wincing as he spread his legs in front of him. “You want me to talk about the horrors of war? You want to hear the gory details of staring into my dead comrades’ eyes seconds after I pulled them to safety?”

Her eyes widened. “Is that what happened to Trent?”

“I wasn’t talking about Trent.” He rammed his fingers through his hair in disgust. “You have no idea what I’ve seen out there.”

“You can talk about what you’ve seen out there with me, Blake. If that’s what it’d take to get the load off your chest.” Her tone was low and calm. She scooted closer on the couch.

Too damn close.

With unfathomable weariness, he shook his head. “I’m not going to burden you with the horrors of combat. Those are the details I take to my grave.”

She reached out her hand, and he jerked away. “If talking won’t help, maybe I can ease some of the pain in your arms.” She reached for his hand again.

It took a tremendous amount of self-control not to pull his hand away. The softness of her skin against his made him tingle. Her touch alone elicited a sleeping urge within him, and he tried to curb the unwanted response.

“That feels so good.” He moaned, unable to resist and too exhausted to try any longer.

His words seemed to embolden her, and Jennifer moved her hand past his wrist and up his arm, pushing up the sleeve of his cotton shirt. The sensation eased the prickling in his contracted skin.

Blake closed his eyes, savoring every second of her touch. Encountering his rough, scarred limb didn’t seem to deter Jennifer as she skimmed her deft fingers over his hand.

“What else can I do for you?”

Her hands massaged the raised scars and eased the tension in his rigid muscles while her question took him beyond the physical and reached deep into his soul. Blake opened his good eye, reached out, and tilted her chin up. “You’ve done more than you’ll ever know.” He focused on her mouth.

When her tongue darted between her lips as if anticipating him, he gave in to the irresistible urge, lowering his mouth over hers. Tentative at first, but when she offered no resistance, he increased the pressure and let the softness of her kiss guide him. He felt a spark zip though his body, reaching his toes and they separated as though reaching for more of it. His heart seemed to stop and jump-start at the same time. The world stopped and his mind raced, and nothing else seemed to matter as he slipped his tongue into the warmth of her parted lips.

Jennifer shuddered, and he pressed his body even closer.

Heaven.

She was everything Blake had expected her to be and more. Her feminine scent wafted through his nostrils, inviting him to take more of her.

She responded by deepening the kiss, and the electric pulses doubled throughout his body, transforming into a throbbing delight that he’d almost forgotten he could feel. It was impossible to think straight.

Jennifer wound her hands around his neck, and he applied pressure on her back by pulling her close until her breasts rubbed his chest.

He wound his fingers through the silky strands of her hair and loved the way her body molded into his.

Endless moments seemed to have passed before he found the strength to ease away from her. He tilted his head away and pressed his mouth into the side of his arm until he knew he could take looking at her again. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Jennifer searched his face as if she would find the reason for this madness written there.

Without giving her a chance to respond, he moved to the door. “Go back to your bedroom and lock the door,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading as he stepped into the darkness without ever looking back.

Jennifer remained unmoving. She stared at the door wondering what had happened. Things happened so fast, and she had simply reacted.

Did I want that, too?

She felt heat flush across her face.

Damn right, you did.

She would’ve continued kissing him if he hadn’t stopped. There was no lying about it, at least not to herself.

Shame and guilt settled as the truth seeped in.

What have I done?

She traced a finger along her lips, mesmerized with the tingle still lingering there as the memory of its source replayed behind her closed eyes. She pushed off the couch and, on one good but shaky leg, hopped back into Blake’s bedroom.

The hallway light was off, and she had no idea where he’d gone.

She closed the door but left it unlocked. She took three ibuprofen pills and exhaustion claimed her after a few minutes. Her remaining thoughts were all about Blake . . . and the kiss.

When Jennifer awoke the next morning, her first conscious thought was of Blake. She rolled over and gazed out the window overlooking the patio, only to realize the glare streaming through the gap in the blinds meant it was late in the day, and she’d overslept.

She sat up and checked the clock. It was almost ten in the morning.

Good heavens! Must’ve been the pain pills.

As if on cue, her foot began to throb.

She searched for any sign of bleeding but saw nothing except the dried remnants that had stained the cloth. She found her crutches perched by the wall next to the nightstand, and with a few hops, she fitted the crutches in her armpits and stabilized her weight on her hands.

Thanks to Blake’s thoughtfulness, all her stuff had been packed as if she’d done it herself. She dressed in a pair of denim shorts and comfortable T-shirt.

The house was almost too quiet except for a scratching sound coming from the living room.

She found Blake’s dog perched on the sofa, looking out the window.

Drew spun around, and if dogs could smile, she would have sworn he was greeting her with a big good morning grin. He looked grateful, almost relieved, for the company. He’d seen her once yet seemed comfortable and not showing any aggression toward her. The powerful-looking animal approached her, his tongue lolled out.

“Hey, Drew. You aren’t surprised to see me at all, are you?” She reached down and patted him on the head. “Where’s Blake?”

The dog’s ears perked up when he heard his master’s name, and he glanced back at the window.

“So that’s what you were doing . . . waiting for him?”

Jennifer was surprised when Drew rose up on his hind legs and rested his paws on her chest, almost knocking her off balance.

She giggled. “You must be good company for Blake.” She patted his head again and turned in the direction of the kitchen.

Although Blake hadn’t shown her around, it wasn’t hard to guess since the layout of the house seemed to be similar to hers. Besides, all she had to do was to follow the scent of freshly brewed coffee. With care, she hobbled into the adjoining room and found a mug sitting next to the coffee maker.

After pouring a cup for herself, Jennifer sat at the dinette and took stock of her surroundings in the light of day. She had no idea how he lived, but judging by the limited provisions around her, Blake seemed to be a simple man.

The memory of their kiss surfaced, and another wave of shame filled her. She had acted on impulse when she’d returned his kiss, but had he not pushed her away, and stopping had been the last thing in her mind.

Jennifer intended to have him drive her home as soon as he appeared. If the prospect of limping outside on a crutch in this heat didn’t make her break out in an exhausted sweat, she would have started the long walk home now.

Halfway through her first cup, the telephone rang. She debated whether to answer the call, but Blake had given Officer Cortez the number in case he had news about the break-in.

As soon as she picked up the receiver, a reprimanding female voice lashed out. “Blake Connor, didn’t I teach you better manners? You should be ashamed of yourself, letting your poor mother worry about you.”

Jennifer pulled the phone away and stared at it.

Should I say something or just hang up?

Her good manners prevailed. “Hello? I’m sorry, but Blake isn’t home at the moment.” She cringed at the sound of her voice.

“Oh . . . I’m so sorry.”

Jennifer gripped the phone and struggled for the right thing to fill the silence.

It’s okay, Mrs. Connor. I’m not just some random woman . . . here . . . at your son’s home . . . first thing in the morning . . . well, I am, but . . . I’m just a friend.

Oh yeah, sounds great!

“I’m Claire, Blake’s mother. Who am I speaking with?”

“Um, I-I-I’m Jennifer . . . Jennifer Owens, Mrs. Connor. My house was burglarized last night and I’m a neighbor and I cut my foot on a broken vase and Blake offered for me to stay for the night while I get my window fixed.” She leaned on the wall to support her body and tried to catch her breath.

“Oh my! Are you okay?” The pure concern in Mrs. Connor’s voice made Jennifer ache for her own mother.

“Yes. Blake took me to the ER last night, and I’m waiting for a call from the police department to see if they have any information on the burglar.”

“Blake did? Bless his heart. I’m glad he’s making friends. He has been cooped up for too long. It’s about time he mingled.”

Long time?

“Exactly how long ago was he injured?”

“Um . . . let’s see . . . I’d say almost a year ago. I know a close friend died in the blast, and he hasn’t spoken about him. I only found out some of the details when he was given the award. He doesn’t want to talk about it. I understand his reluctance, though. I’m sure it must be painful for him.”