Along the Broken Road (10 page)

“Charlee.” The single word rolled off his tongue and created a hot pool in her gut.

She let out a few quick breaths in answer because she knew he’d hold her there if she tried to pull away. And she didn’t want the fight. She didn’t want the struggle. She just wanted . . .

His eyes opened and focused on her. “I made you a promise, Charlee, and that’s something I don’t take lightly.”

Her mouth was cotton and when he moistened his lips, she wished he could do the same for hers. And she cursed herself for wishing that. “I know.”

And now his hands were moving slowly, rhythmically, like she was an instrument and he was the master. Fingertips glided over the bumps of her back ribs, finding the hollow, tracing the space until his hands were at her sides. “And I swear I’ll uphold that.” His eyes opened wider. “I swear, Charlee. But . . .”

Her flesh heated with anticipation. “But?”

He lay back again and let his eyes shut. “But I’m weak right now. And I’m finding it very difficult to not kiss you.”

When she moved closer, his eyes slid open to find her there, less than a breath away. She’d pay for her weakness later. Of that she was certain, but right now, she very much wanted to be kissed. And not just kissed by anyone, but by Ian Carlisle, a man she was certain knew exactly how to give her what she needed most. So she leaned in.

Their mouths came together, her hair creating a blanket around them. His fingers dug into the strands and angled her so that he could taste more, touch more, feel more. His lips were salty and soft and as his mouth parted ever so gently as if exploring a new discovery, Charlee couldn’t stop the tiny moan that escaped into his mouth. This changed the momentum. What had been tender and soft, morphed into a deep, full kiss that had her dragging her hands up over the chest and fighting not to rake them into claws. Hands at the sides of her head, he broke the kiss.

Desire, heat, fire, all of those and more flew between them as they sucked the oxygen-depleted air from the scant few inches that separated their faces and mouths. He started to pull her in again, but she froze. A moment later, after he licked the taste of her from his mouth, Charlee lost all thought of tomorrow and started to tilt toward his lips again, drawn by his tongue and the desire to quench the thirst for more. This time it was Ian who stopped her. His eyes shut tightly, he tried to slow his breathing, as did Charlee, but she was helpless, and a lack of oxygen made her giddy and stupid and if she didn’t get up—rise up right now!—she was going to dive in so deep she just might drown. “I have to go,” she whispered, and he locked his hands into fists at the sides of her head and brought her forehead to his own.

“I know,” he whispered into her mouth. For a few long moments neither moved. Then, Ian’s eyes popped open and he gently moved her away from him. In his gaze, she saw he was the soldier, the warrior who could put personal feelings aside and accomplish the mission. And that gave her strength too.

“Before you go, I have something I need to tell you.”

Suddenly, he looked tired, spent. Finished. Her heart bled. “Tell me tomorrow, Ian. I’ll come by in the morning to check on you, okay?”

“I’ll be here.” He grinned.

“Are you going to be okay alone?”

Irony entered his gaze. “I fought in a war, Charlee. I’ll be fine.”

She nodded. “Okay. Okay, so I’ll be by at first light.”

When she got to the door, his voice stopped her. “Thank you. This won’t happen again.”

She paused, wondering if he meant the fight he’d obviously not done well in or the kiss. Charlee was surprised to find she hoped it was the first and not the second. If she’d thought he’d know how to kiss her, she’d been wrong. He didn’t just know. He instinctively moved to every whim of her desire. This man could thoroughly wreck her. If, of course, he hadn’t already.

CHAPTER 6

Eight hours and two cool showers later, Charlee was once again at Ian’s door. She knocked, listened, jiggled the door handle. Still unlocked. She opened it a crack and peered inside. “Ian?”

No answer, so she stepped in to find the couch empty. A coffeepot gurgled on the counter; that was a good sign. She walked to the sofa and stared down at the place where his body had been. Blood stained the throw pillow. Beyond her, she could hear the shower running and this fact gave her tremendous confidence that all was well with the world. She needed all to be well . . . with Ian. Needed him to be fine and not in need of a caretaker.

Planning to busy herself until he was out, she strode to the kitchen in search of a washrag to scrub out the bloodstain. Drawers
whooshed
and
clinked
as she went through them. She pulled the far right drawer open to find a leather journal resting atop the washcloths. She tried to reach beneath it, but the towel snagged so she pulled the journal out and sat it on the counter edge. She chose an old washcloth and started to return the journal to its spot when a photograph slipped from between the pages and fluttered to the ground, landing upside down.

Charlee started to return it, but curiosity got the best of her. Was this a photo of Ian’s first love? A picture he still carried to this day. When she flipped the photograph, her breath caught. Black spots appeared before her eyes, and everything in her periphery began to fade.

Charlee stared down at a picture of herself.

Her free hand lurched out to grab the counter, her knees weak. She knew this photo but hadn’t seen it for a long time. Mind spinning, she tried to make sense of it. Ian hadn’t been in her house, couldn’t have retrieved it from there, and besides, it had been years,
years
since she’d seen the photograph of herself.

When she heard noise behind her, she spun around to find him mouth agape, staring at first her, then the photo, then the journal.

“Where’d you get this?” Her voice was high with panic.

But the look in his eyes told her this was no innocent mistake.

“How long have you had this?” She slashed the photo through the air.

But Ian didn’t answer. The cuts above his eye and at the edge of his mouth looked better today, less swollen, but his eyes were pleading and filled with pain. It twisted her gut, but she couldn’t let it, so she took a shaky step and slammed her hand on the table. “How long?”

“A long time, Charlee.”

She sucked a breath. “Before you met me?”

He nodded, shame blanketing his features.

Her mind couldn’t,
wouldn’t
wrap around this. “You carried a picture of me before you met me? Did Jeremiah give it to you?” She tried to remain calm, slow her heart, but the Mack Truck that had just run her down seemed to be circling back to make another pass.

“No, Charlee. I tried to tell you last night. I’ve tried a couple times.”

She stumbled back, hands flying up beside her face. “Get out.” Her head shook from side to side as she moved toward the door. “Get your things and get out.”

Dark eyes filled with tears and if she wasn’t so freaked out by the whole thing, Charlee might have been tempted to let him explain.

“Please. Just give me five minutes so you’ll understand.”

Her hand closed on the doorknob and squeezed for support. “There’s nothing you could say to me to make this right.”

Desperate, Ian rushed to her but she slipped through the front door and slammed it shut. He stood just on the inside but it could have been a hundred miles away from her. His hand fell on his heart, fingers twisting into a fist.
Nothing could make this right
. He knew that was true. He could see it. Everything he needed to accomplish here was destroyed.
Screwup
. Why had this task been entrusted to him?

In silence, Ian moved around the cabin in a daze, packing his things into his military-issue backpack. He’d have nothing to remember her. She’d taken her picture, leaving him utterly alone. Empty. And at the back of his mind, a voice teased him that it was destined to turn out this way. He could handle himself on the battlefield, but Ian Carlisle was no match for the battleground of the heart.

He’d need to stop by Mr. Gruber’s cabin before leaving. Though Ian didn’t have much in the way of belongings, it took him an hour to gather his things. He wrapped the journal in plastic bags; it would need protection from the elements. At one point he was tempted to stop to read a few lines, but what did it matter now? Charlee was gone from his life and he’d let down the only person he swore he wouldn’t. When he got outside and looked at his bike, he was well aware he had no destination. So for a long few minutes he just stared at the chrome and leather as if it would indicate where he needed to go. His body ached with the abuse he’d taken last night and now his chest ached with a deep and hollow sensation of real pain. Heart pain. The kind he’d hoped he’d never feel again. By comparison, he’d take a beating from three guys any day over this.

“My goodness, he looks like a lost puppy,” Wilma said, standing in her doorway with Charlee. On the other side of the hub, Ian readied to leave. His movements were slow and mechanical as he tied a duffel on his bike and rested his backpack on the ground beside it.

“I just want him gone.”

Wilma draped an arm lovingly around Charlee’s shoulder. When King Edward and Wynona stepped onto the porch, they all pivoted to watch Ian. “Honey, are you sure you shouldn’t let him explain?”

Charlee’s breath caught. “Does the word
stalker
mean anything to you?” Everything with Richard had been a lie. This had all the same earmarks.

Wynona left to collect Mr. Gruber. King Edward sniffed. “That boy’s no stalker. Drama, drama, drama with you women.”

Charlee gave him a harsh look.

Wilma rubbed a hand up and down Charlee’s arm. “I just don’t see Ian as dangerous. Maybe your brother gave him the photo.”

Really? They’d known him less than two weeks and were defending him rather than consoling her? “I asked him if Jeremiah gave him the picture. He said no.” She held it up. “And look how worn it is. He’s been carrying this a long time.”

“Did he say your brother didn’t give it to him or that he hadn’t gotten it from him? Maybe he saw it, thought you were beautiful, and took the picture without permission.”

Charlee could see the writing on the wall here. She had to deal with this or the artists would be driving her crazy for weeks. “I’ll be out in a minute.” She disappeared into Wilma’s cabin.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” Wilma called.

“Calling my brother.”

Three minutes later, and with a fresh new wave of anger, Charlee stomped past the gathered artists, burning up the ground to Ian Carlisle. He was just getting on his motorcycle when she reached him. Before he could sling a leg over, she grabbed his arm and jerked. “My brother doesn’t know you.”

Ian’s eyes closed.

“I called him.” Her teeth were clenched so tightly, she thought the back ones might break off. “He says he’s never met you.”

Shoulders curled forward, Ian nodded and faced her fully to take the abuse she was ready to dish out.

“Admit it.” This time, Charlee landed a fist against his chest.

Ian grunted and she remembered the cracked ribs and for a hot instant felt bad. But the moment faded quickly. “Admit it.”

He pulled a breath and lifted his gaze to the sky above. His eyes were wet. “I don’t know your brother.”

Charlee’s heart closed on the words. Even though she knew it, had known it since talking to Jeremiah, hearing Ian say it from his mouth, a mouth she’d tasted and had trusted, caused her body to want to shut down.

She slowly turned from him and started walking back to Wilma’s cabin. But with each step anger and fear and confusion rose. She spun and marched right back to him. “Why?” Charlee’s head shook from side to side.

A fat tear trickled off Ian’s cheek and she wanted to wipe it away because you should never have to see a soldier cry. And the fact that even now her heart was tender to the man who’d done nothing but lie to her caused an ever-deeper surge of pain. “Why did you come here, Ian?”

He rubbed his hands over his face, then dropped them at his sides. “Because I promised your father I would.”

Slam!
Some intangible force hit her in the torso and slung her backward. She stumbled as the world shifted, going from a place of solid ground to liquid around her. It was a moment before she realized Ian’s hand was holding her arm. She pulled away from him.

“I promised your dad. And I was so afraid I’d screw it up . . .” Now the tears came in great streams down his cheeks, causing his giant dark eyes to swim, to plead. “And I
did
screw it up.” Wide shoulders quaked under the strain.

And Charlee realized there were tears on her face too. “My dad?” Still, she couldn’t grasp what was happening around her or how Ian and her father were connected.

“He understood you better than you thought, Charlee. And, oh my God, he loved you more than life.”

Again, she felt as though she’d been punched. Her
father
? There was grass beneath her feet and below that, good rich Missouri dirt. And below that solid rock, bedrock or granite. Firm, unmovable. But where she stood, it all felt like sand sifting with each word.

Ian took a tentative step closer. “The journal you saw in the drawer. That’s his. I was supposed to bring it. To give it to you, but not just hand it over. I’m supposed to read it to you, one page at a time. But I—I couldn’t seem to . . .”

“The page you read me?” She sank her feet into the ground, hoping for equilibrium, hoping to feel a little of that bedrock below.

“Your father wrote it to you.”

Her fingers clamped on his wrist when she swayed. “But why?”

“Because your dad wants you to know another side of him. A side you never saw because he was busy trying to prepare you for life. You and your father are more alike than you know.”

Charlee shook her head. They were polar opposites.

“Will you come inside with me? I can read you the first page.”

Her gaze fell to the mountains in the distance. Solid, strong, their unwavering sight grounded her, if only a bit. Still in a cloud, Charlee let Ian take her hand. Gently, he tugged, pulling her to his cabin and into her past.

I am a man who is undone. Torn between what is right and what is necessary. In the eyes of my mind I see another life. Home, chores, long quiet dinners, long silent nights. But that is only the place I live in my dreams. My reality is different. My reality is guns, rations, war, death. But the other world that waits for me makes it tolerable. And though my heart is there, my responsibility is here. To them. To the kids who arrive daily and die daily. My responsibility is to their mothers and fathers to give their children every resource to succeed in this war. Will young men and women survive and even thrive because of my commitment? Yes, they will. And will I one day return to that other life? A place of green grass and clear streams. I hope. But whether I return or die in this desert landscape, I have done what is necessary. I can only hope those I left behind will understand. Will you, Charlee? Can you forgive me for being here when I should be there?