Familiar Stranger. Sharon Sala
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up on one elbow, staring intently into the shadowed contours of his face, then let her gaze drift down his body. She’d seen the scars. Bullet holes. A shrapnel wound. A thick, ropy scar along the back of his leg. Dear Lord, what had happened to him? What hell was he reliving in his dreams?
Suddenly, he sat straight up in bed and she fell back in surprise.
“David?”
At the sound of her voice, his body went limp.
“I forgot where I was,” he said.
“You were dreaming.”
“Yes.”
“Can I get you something? A glass of water? Some aspirin?”
He crawled out of bed and walked across the room to where his suitcase was lying.
“Where are you going?” she asked, as she watched him dig a pair of shorts from the case.
“I need to run it off,” he said shortly. “I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep.”
“Run what off, David?”
He turned then, nothing but a mass of shadow and shape on the other side of the room, but the tone of his voice was image enough.
“The past.”
“But David, you can’t run away from the past.”
“I know, but I can damn well wear it out. Now go back to sleep. I’ll let myself in when I come back.”
“You’ll need a key,” she said, and started to get up.
“No, I won’t.”
Then he was gone.
She lay there for a moment, absorbing the last thing he’d said and then started to tremble. What kind of man had she let into her bed?
Chapter 3
David ran without thought, focusing only on the impact of foot to ground and the mind-numbing relief that exhaustion always brought. Leaving Cara had seemed cowardly, especially after he’d come all this way to see her. But he was too ashamed to let her see his weaknesses—to admit that something as innocuous as a nightmare could undo him to this extent.
When he’d first run into the woods behind her house, he’d gone without a destination other than to forget. But a short time later, when he realized he had no idea where he was, he paused in a clearing and looked at the sky, reading the heavens like road map. The North Star was a constant that he quickly sought out. Once he found it, he realigned himself with the world and wished it was as simple to do that in his own life. By the time he’d outrun the demons, he had begun to circle back and was less than a mile from her home. Now it was simply a matter of getting there before exhaustion hit.
He came out of the trees, his steps dragging, his feet numb and burning. As he started up the gentle slope behind her house, he looked up and then stopped.
Lights.
She’d turned on the lights so he could see to come home.
There had been so many times in his life when he had not allowed himself the luxury of shedding a tear. He had no way of knowing that the simple act of lighting his way home was all it would take. But now…
He shuddered, then swallowed around a lump in his throat. Not once since he’d begun this lonely journey that had become his life had he had someone to come home to.
Dear God, if only he did belong here—to Cara and what was left of her world. He needed it—deserved it. He’d given up so damned much. Surely he would be allowed some joy on this earth before his days were over. He took a deep breath and then shook off the thoughts. As long as the showdown with Frank still loomed, he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on the future. He threw back his shoulders and started to walk.
Cara saw him come out of the trees. Her shoulders sagged with a relief she wouldn’t voice. He paused at the bottom of the hill, and although she couldn’t see his features, she was struck by the stillness of his posture, as if he’d become a part of the scenery. Then he started toward her, his steps slow and dragging.
She stood up from the chair in which she’d been sitting, then stayed within the shadows, struggling with the urge to run to him. Still uncertain where she fit into his life, she watched, waiting to take her cue from him.
David felt her presence before he saw her, and when she stepped out of the shadows to the edge of the porch, a weight lifted from his chest. This was just like a dream he’d had so many times before. Coming home to find this woman awaiting his arrival was nothing short of a miracle.
“Cara.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“I made some coffee. There are fresh towels and a washcloth in the bathroom.” She hesitated, then added, “Do you need anything else?”
He swallowed around a lump in his throat. “Just you.”
“I’ve been here all the time.”
“I know. I’m the one who’s been lost.”
She walked off the porch and took him by the hand.
“Then welcome home, my darling,” she said softly, and led him inside.
David went silently, knowing that simple act had done more toward saving his sanity than anything else she could have ever done.
When he came out of the shower it was close to four in the morning. The lights were out in the rest of the house, with only a small ginger jar lamp lighting the area beside Cara’s bed. He stood in the doorway, watching her sleep. So still. So beautiful.
He wondered how many times Ray Justice had done this very same thing, maybe in this very same place—watching his wife in their bed. Jealousy burned low in his gut but he shoved it aside. There was nothing left to be jealous about. The man was dead, and he was here.
But there was Frank.
The possibility existed that he might never have another chance to do this—to stand within the quiet of a home and watch the woman he loved as she slept. This time, it was regret that drew him to the bed. He pulled back the covers and slipped in beside her, selfishly taking everything she had to offer now.
When she sighed and turned, snuggling her cheek against his chest, his arms tightened around her.
God…don’t let this end.
Then he closed his eyes and let exhaustion claim him.
David smelled coffee and rolled over in surprise. Most of his adult life had hinged on being cognizant of his surroundings, even in his sleep, and yet Cara had arisen from this bed and dressed without him knowing it. And from the scents wafting down the hallway, she’d been up for some time. Not only did he smell coffee, but if he wasn’t mistaken, also bacon and the aroma of baking bread. He rolled out of bed and grabbed a clean pair of shorts and a shirt, unwilling to waste another moment of this day. After a quick trip to the bathroom to brush his teeth and comb his hair, he padded barefoot down the hall. The television was on in the living room and he stopped, taking a moment to listen to the announcer.
“Talks between the Irish Republican Army and Great Britain have come to a halt. Reports from unnamed sources tell us that the recent bombing in Trafalgar Square has been attributed to a renegade faction of the IRA and that until this has been sorted out, negotiations will cease.”
“Damn,” David muttered, and made himself a mental note to check on the status of the situation. When the announcer continued, he lingered another moment, although he was torn between his duty to SPEAR and his longing to be with Cara.
“On the local front, hit-and-run robberies are continuing within a three-county area of upstate New York. Just last night, a liquor store in Three Corners was held up, and the clerk on duty was shot and robbed of more than six thousand dollars. The woman, a thirty-four-year-old