The Marine's Embrace. Beth Andrews
Читать онлайн книгу.
* *
HE’D FLOWN HALFWAY across the country, almost fell on his ass in front of a bar full of people, humiliated himself by begging for a job and made a kid cry.
Yeah. He’d say his day was now complete.
Zach scratched the underside of his jaw. The beard itched like hell, but at least it hid the scars scattered across the side of his neck and jaw. Not that he’d grown it for vanity. He just hadn’t mastered using a razor with his left hand, and as much as his life might suck, he wasn’t so bad off that the idea of slicing his own neck held any appeal.
The kid sent up a high-pitched wail that probably had every dog in the neighborhood cowering. He pressed his face against the woman’s leg, his little body shaking.
Christ.
The woman knelt, said something to the kid—her son, if the resemblance was anything to go by—who quieted for a moment. Until he glanced at Zach again and cried louder than before. Kid had some pipes, Zach would give him that.
“Maybe I should go,” Zach said.
Color washed up the woman’s neck into her face, the red contrasting with her strawberry blond hair. “No, no. Please. I’m really sorry for this. Just...give me a moment.” She picked up the boy. Zach was surprised she could lift him when it looked like a stiff breeze would knock her over.
“It’s okay,” the blonde murmured, and he could have sworn she was talking to him as well as the kid. “Everything will be all right.”
The thought irritated him. He didn’t need her reassurance, didn’t need anyone spouting off about how he should look on the bright side and be hopeful for the future. He needed a damn room.
And she wasn’t doing her kid any favors, either, lying to him. How did she know everything would be all right?
She pressed a kiss against the side of the boy’s head and jiggled him the same way he’d seen his aunts, cousins, mom and grandmother do with the countless babies and kids in his family. As if bouncing the hell out of them would impart some comfort or maybe shake some sense into someone who couldn’t even tie their own shoes.
Then again, he was having some difficulty with that task himself. Maybe his mother was right about not casting stones.
The kid clung to the woman, his pudgy arms around her neck, all but squeezing the life from her. At least the jiggling and murmuring were working. His cries quieted. Though they didn’t stop.
She sent Zach a tight, embarrassed smile over the kid’s head as she rubbed the child’s back. “I’m so sorry. Really. Let me just get him settled down,” she continued, walking backward. “It’ll only take a minute. You can wait in the entryway if you’d like.” She turned, took a step then paused long enough to look at Zach over her shoulder. “Sorry.”
And she took off, speed walking down the sidewalk then jogging up the porch steps before disappearing into the house—hotel...bed-and-breakfast...whatever—leaving the door open behind her.
Leaving him standing alone on the sidewalk, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.
He started to rock back on his heels only to remember that wasn’t such a good idea given the pain in his leg, the unsteadiness of his muscles. The walk from O’Riley’s to here hadn’t helped, nor had carrying his duffel, which all went back to not having a choice.
His current life motto.
There used to be a time when he could run for miles at top speed in full combat gear with fifty pounds of supplies, weapons and ammunition on his back.
Now he could barely make it a mile carrying what little clothes he owned, his toothbrush and a few personal items.
New normal.
Leaning to the left, he picked up his duffel. His head swam. Ached. Nausea rose, but he swallowed it down. Headaches were just one of the lingering effects of the severe concussion he’d suffered during the blast that had taken his arm and leg.
He needed to sit down, preferably someplace dark and quiet. He stared at the doorway. No sign of the blonde. She expected him to follow her, to wait while she tried to convince her kid Zach wasn’t some monster. Good luck with that.
He turned slowly, started back toward the street. Tidy houses with lush, thick lawns lined the road. Birds chirped. A dog barked.
He never should have come up the walk, never should have spoken to the blonde. As soon as he’d seen Bradford House, he’d known it wasn’t for him. The Victorian was too cute, with its tall windows, huge wraparound front porch and neatly trimmed lawn.
A place where couples came for romantic weekend getaways. Where groups of women stayed when they ditched the men in their lives. Somewhere for people who wanted to be charmed by the manager, who wanted to sit with other travelers, chat, learn about their lives.
It was not a place for someone who spent most nights wide awake, watching TV or limping around his room, avoiding sleep and the nightmares that came with it. Someone who only wanted to be left alone.
Bradford House wasn’t for him.
The kid had known that right off.
He’d noticed the boy first—hard to miss that beacon of bright hair. The kid had been digging in a pot of dirt, flowers at his feet, his hands filthy, his clothes stained as he talked a mile a minute to no one, his joy obvious.
Then Zach had caught sight of the woman and he’d just...stopped. Froze right there on the sidewalk, his heart slamming in his chest, his mind hazy. She’d sat back on her heels, her hands tucked primly on her bent knees, her head turned up to the sun, a small smile playing on her mouth.
That dreamy smile had captured him. She’d seemed so peaceful, the bright sun catching the fiery strands of gold in her hair, her expression soft. She seemed to glow, to have been lit from inside, her pale skin almost translucent. He’d started moving toward her before he’d even fully realized his intent, drawn to that warmth, that sense of serenity. Longing for a way to somehow bask with her in that peace.
Except when he moved, he’d blocked her light, casting her in shadow. Touching her with darkness. She’d frowned, but that had been nothing compared to the unease in her eyes when she’d first seen him. The vulnerability.
Or the flinch when she’d noticed his empty sleeve.
He gave an irritable shrug, felt like he had an itch he couldn’t reach between his shoulder blades, even if he’d still had two hands. No, Bradford House was definitely not for him.
Feeling as if he’d just lost something he’d never even had, he turned onto the main sidewalk, heading back toward town.
“Wait!” a female voice called, followed by the sound of running feet. “Wait!”
He kept walking. Not that it mattered. It took her ten seconds to catch up with him.
“Where are you going?” she asked breathlessly from beside him.
“I hear there’s a Holiday Inn off the highway.”
He could buy a car, hire someone to drive him everywhere, to drop him off at O’Riley’s, take him to whatever restaurant he wanted to eat at. Hell, he didn’t even have to work—he could buy a house somewhere, anywhere, sit there day in and day out. He had money. More than he’d ever be able to spend in two lifetimes.
But he hadn’t earned it. Had been given it because he was Clinton Bartasavich Sr.’s bastard son.
He hadn’t earned it, so he wouldn’t use it.
She scooted in front of him, forcing him to stop. Her cheeks were pink. Whether she was still embarrassed or if it was from her quick jog, he wasn’t sure. “Why would you go there?”
“For that room I mentioned?”
Her eyebrows drew together in a confused frown. She lifted her