Home For A Hero. Mary Wilson Anne
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don’t know,” he snapped, his nerves frayed by her constant questions about the owner.
She sank back in the seat. “Then what?”
He knew what they had to do, and he hated the thought. “We’ll just have to wait until morning, then I can walk into town.”
“That’s an awfully long walk,” she said.
He frowned at her. How did she know that? She hadn’t mentioned being on the island before, but then again, he hadn’t been the gracious host, either. “You’ve been on the island before?”
“I’ve been here a few times to talk to beach owners and do some studies. But even I know that it would take you a long time to get into town from here.”
He’d walked the distance a couple of times when he’d needed the physical exhaustion. “I can do it,” he said, and drew back, swinging the door shut after him.
Shay got out and came around to where he stood, limping slightly as she moved closer to bend over and take a look at the tires trapped in the mire. “Whoa, it really is stuck.” She turned, straightening, and grimaced as she shifted her feet.
He could tell that even on the soggy ground, her feet were tender. If he’d been gallant, if he’d been more polite, he would have offered to help her, maybe even carry her so she wouldn’t have to walk. But he wasn’t any of those things anymore. Or maybe he hadn’t forgotten good manners as he’d first thought. When she shifted again, she flinched. He flashed the light down at her feet, at the dirt and grass clinging to them, and caught a glimpse of pale pink polish on her toenails. Then he stepped toward her and picked her up.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a woman, but he knew that he never should have done this. Everything in him backfired. He’d thought he was doing the right thing, proving to himself that he could still be human, but the moment she was in his arms, he felt his whole being clench. She gasped and twisted to look up at him. “What are you doing?”
He wasn’t at all sure himself, but he knew that he felt his whole body brace as hers leaned into his. Then her arm was around his neck, and he hurried up the driveway to the terrace and headed for the door. He pushed it open, then put her down, and backed up, unconsciously rubbing his hands together as if to free himself of that connection he’d found for a few moments. He sucked in a deep breath, then looked at Shay.
She brushed at her hair as those amber eyes lifted to him. “Thanks,” she said in a soft voice.
“Sure.” He turned from her, and his stomach was roiling so painfully he thought he was going to be sick. He went farther into the house without looking back, stepped out of his boots in the great room and stripped off his peacoat, tossing it over the arm of the nearest couch. When he looked back, Shay was standing across the room, far from where he stood. She was slowly taking off her jacket, but she was watching him.
She looked like a waif, pale and shaking, shifting from foot to foot again on the wooden floor, her hair wildly curling from the moisture. Luke seemed to see her so clearly at that moment that it almost made him ache. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want her here, and mostly, he didn’t want to feel any sort of pity or concern for her. He’d passed that point in his life. He’d vowed not to care about anyone anymore, and he wasn’t going to start with this woman.
He wouldn’t remember her coming into this house, standing in front of him, her eyes huge, her hair clinging to her face and neck. He closed his own eyes tightly. He felt that fragmenting sensation he used to live with all the time, but had managed to push away the past few months.
“Luke?”
The sound of her voice jarred him, and his eyes opened immediately. She was still there, frowning as she came closer. That’s when he moved himself, walking right past her and toward the kitchen. He reached the huge double sink, pressed his hands to the cold tile counter and swallowed hard. He knew Shay was nearby and he made himself speak without turning. “We’re going to be here for a while, so I’ll make some hot soup.”
“That sounds blissful,” Shay said, closer to him than he wanted, but still at a distance.
Blissful? Had he ever felt blissful? He decided that blissful was outside his range of emotions. He opened the cupboard by him, reached for the nearest can of soup and stared at the label until it blurred as he waited for Shay to leave. When he heard her walking away, he exhaled and was able to get air in his lungs. Blissful? No, he never had experienced bliss.
Chapter Three
By the time Luke had the soup heated, found crackers and made more coffee, he felt calmer. He put the food on a tray, then carried it into the great room. Shay was on the nearest couch, curled into one corner, her head against the pillows and her eyes closed. Her rich chestnut hair was drying into soft curls now, touching her pale skin, and her dark lashes lay in arcs on her cheeks. Her peaceful expression was almost tangible, and for a split second, he envied her. It was one thing to never know bliss, but not to have known peace for such a very long time made him ache.
He was startled when her eyes opened without warning, and her soft amber gaze was on him. She smiled, showing the dimples again. “Wonderful,” she exclaimed when she saw the food and shifted to sit up straight.
He felt the impact of her expression in his middle and it was all he could do to control the urge to drop everything and walk away. He steadied himself, and went closer. After placing the tray on the end table nearest her, he returned to the kitchen for his own mug of coffee. She was holding a bowl of soup when he came back, and her content expression made his life feel grim and gray. “This is terrific,” she said, and dipped her spoon in the bowl. “Really terrific.”
He went to open the nearest door when she spoke again. “Luke?”
No one had said his name in this house, and now it hung in the air between them. Did Luke exist anymore? Had he ever existed?
He cautiously turned, saw her dipping a cracker into the soup, but she was looking at him. “What is it?” he asked.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“No,” he said, stepping out onto the terrace. He heard her start to say something else, but he closed the door on it. He stood in the bone-chilling cold in his stocking feet, staring into nothingness, yet couldn’t get the image of Shay out of his mind. He didn’t want to have her cutting through the void around him and showing him how empty his life had become. He didn’t want anyone. And he didn’t want her touching him again.
SHAY WATCHED the door close behind Luke, and the idea she was in any danger from the man gradually eased and dissolved. She still caught that look on Luke’s face that Roy had worn during the sessions, but now, she wasn’t so sure it was anger. It was more sadness. She had nothing to fear, she was sure.
Luke had shown her kindness, even if it had been grudging, offering to take her into town, drying her clothes, letting her shower, carrying her when he must have realized how sore her feet were, and now giving her the hot soup. Other than his abrupt attitude, he hadn’t done a thing to make her think he might hurt her. No, she wasn’t afraid of him at all. She finished the cracker and ate more soup, welcoming the heat slipping down her throat.
By the time she finished the food and sat back, Luke still hadn’t come back. But as she reached for her coffee, one of the back doors opened. Luke didn’t say a thing as he crossed the room and returned a few minutes later holding a steaming mug of coffee. “Do you want more?” he asked, nodding at the empty soup bowl.
“No, thanks, but it was good.” She sipped a bit of her coffee, but never looked away from Luke.
He crossed to a chair over by the doors and sat down, shifting to rest his right ankle on his left knee. He tugged off his sock, tossed it on the floor by him, then took off the other one. He kept his gaze down, as if studying the steaming liquid in his cup.
“I really want to thank you for doing this for me,” she said.
He