Danger Close (Shadow Warriors) (40 page)

Everything she loved about Jim was here, an easiness that had always shown in his smile. A simple life where real feelings counted above everything else. A gentle caress of the wind riffling through the orchard was like his fingers brushing her cheek. Champ abruptly left her side and she bowed her head, hands pressed to her face, and wept unashamedly in the noontime heat, alone and hurting terribly.

She felt, more than heard, someone approach.

“Cathy?” a voice called gently.

She jerked her tear-wet face upward, eyes widening in disbelief. Jim Boland’s ghost stood only a few feet away, his pale features filled with concern, the dog at his side. But the ghost was wearing civilian clothes—a pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his forearms and a pair of faded, well-worn jeans. Gasping, Cathy staggered to her feet, clutching at the chain that held the swing. “You—you—you’re dead,” she whispered hoarsely.

“No,” Jim said softly, taking an unsure step forward and holding out his hand toward her. “Cathy, it’s me, Jim. I’m alive. Everything’s going to be all right, babe….”

Cathy’s face drained of what little color it had. She stared down at the open hand he offered her—the hand of a ghost reaching out from beyond the grave to hold her, perhaps take away her pain and replace it with happiness. She saw a multitude of old and fresh scars on his fingers, some white and others pink, denoting their recent acquisition.

“Oh, my God…” she stammered, and her knees buckled as she fainted.

Jim moved forward, breaking her fall. He gathered her into his arms, holding Cathy in a crushing embrace. Her hair swirled across her waxen features and he moved the strands aside, alarmed at her pallor. Grimly, Jim picked her up. He wasn’t that strong yet, himself, but the power of his emotions gave him the necessary strength as he carried her to the house and to his bedroom.

He carefully laid Cathy on the old brass bed covered with a faded blue quilt. Going to the bathroom next door, he retrieved a cold washcloth. His dog, Champ, curled up on the brightly colored handwoven rug next to the bed, quietly watching.

Wringing out the cloth, Jim sat down beside Cathy, quickly opening the collar and first few buttons of her simple black dress. He stilled his anger—black was for grieving. Jim loosened the belt around her narrow waist and made sure her legs were propped up with a pillow beneath them. Her pulse was slow and steady and Jim relaxed a bit. Gently, he sponged her face and neck. Reaching out, he tunneled his fingers through the clean, fragrant strands of Cathy’s hair. It was like silk. In fact, so was she, incredibly strong and breathtakingly rare to him. He loved her. Their love was like silk binding them to each other and tested through the fires of hell itself.

He hungrily absorbed every nuance of her features, from the coverlet of freckles that lay across her cheeks to her slightly bumped nose that was less than perfect but perfect to him. Cathy’s lips were parted and just as full and tempting as he remembered. It was the hollowness beneath her high cheekbones that told him of the private hell she had been living in. There was further evidence of it on her forehead, where small lines, even in her present unconscious state, remained puckered between her clean eyebrows. He ran his thumb lightly across those lines, watching them gently disappear beneath his touch. His gaze moved back to her lips and an overwhelming urge to touch that vulnerable part of Cathy avalanched him.

“Babe?” he called tenderly. Jim placed his hand on her shoulder, giving her a slight shake. “Come on, wake up.” He studied her face, watching as a slight flush of color began to seep back into her cheeks. Very slowly, she was becoming conscious. Leaning over, Jim feathered a kiss across her lips, lost momentarily in the pliancy of her flesh. He called to her again.

“Cathy, it’s me, Jim. You fainted but you’re coming out of it now. Open your eyes, babe.”

Blue paisley wallpaper on the ceiling met her gaze as she slowly opened her eyes. Cathy felt the rough, callused warmth of a hand cup her cheek and jaw, guiding her head to the left. Her eyes began to focus and her heart pounded erratically in her breast.

“Are you okay?” Jim demanded, caressing her cheek. “You’re so pale.”

Cathy frowned, trying to form a coherent sentence. “I—no…I mean, yes.” Cathy swallowed convulsively, her voice trembling badly as she anxiously searched his eyes. “Is it really you?”

“Yes,” Jim whispered gently. He put the washcloth aside on the bed stand and leaned over, his hands bracketing her shoulders. She was looking up at him strangely, as if not trusting what she saw. “I’m not a ghost, Cathy.” His voice was heavy with need. “Come here. I’ve been dreaming for a week of seeing you again. I need you.”

He felt the tension galvanize her as he gently lifted Cathy into his arms. Jim buried his head against her neck, the strands of her hair falling across his face, intoxicating him with the fresh smell of sweetness that was only her. For a moment, he wasn’t sure she was going to allow him to kiss her. It was as if Cathy was making sure it was him and not some impostor or dream. The trembling coolness of her hand against his jaw made him want to hold her and be held. Jim caught her fingertips as she lightly outlined his face and kissed each one of them.

“There, do you believe I’m real or do I spend the next two days proving it?” he challenged, a gentle smile curving his mouth.

Cathy laughed unsurely, her face suffused with an undeniable joy. “Oh, Jim…”

He hungrily sought and found her lips, kissing her gently, not willing to leave her warmth or the powerful feeling of love that melded them together at that moment. Outlining her lips with small nips and caresses, Jim couldn’t get enough of her.

“God,” he rasped, “I love you, Cathy. I love you so damn much.” And he drowned himself in the moist, welcoming heat of her mouth.

Eventually, Cathy eased away from him, her hand resting on his chest, her eyes wide with confusion. Jim saw the distrust and fear evident in her wary eyes. She sat there, staring at him. Only the rasp of their uneven breathing broke the silence that hung palpably between them.

Wordlessly, Jim drew her close, never wanting to let her go. He sat there rocking her, absorbing the feminine curves of her body against him. Jim sensed the explosion within Cathy. She began to quiver. And then a sob tore from her. The harder she cried, the more tightly he held her, whispering words of love and comfort. The awful sounds of deep, scarring hurt and pain suffered over the past months of hell filled the room.

Jim’s face contorted with anguish. It wasn’t fair someone like Cathy should have been asked to bear so many burdens alone. Her weakness was also her strength, Jim realized, as he continued to stroke her hair. Cathy pushed her emotionalism to the hilt, wringing every ounce of it out of her before it rebelled and consumed her in its flame. Tears burned in his eyes and Jim buried his face in her hair, crying with her. Together they cried for joy, reveling in life, not death. There would be no more separations.

Quietness eventually stole upon them. The peacefulness of the farm invaded the privacy of his room. Listening to her soft breathing, her head resting against his chest, hair in damp disarray, Jim lay down beside her on the bed.

“Is this real?” she asked, her voice husky and unsure.

“It’s real.” Jim propped himself up on one arm and tucked Cathy beside him, studying her in the muted light that came through the paisley curtains next to the brass bed. He traced the arch of her brow, kissing away the lines of gathering bewilderment.

Cathy lifted her lashes, meeting and melting beneath his tender dove gray gaze. “What happened, Jim? Why didn’t someone tell me you were alive? What kind of terrible game are they playing on me?”

He released a ragged sigh, cupping her chin and lightly stroking her flushed cheek. “If it’s a game, babe, it was played on both of us. Listen to me,” he began. “The last thing I remember is trying to get to you and then get that damn belt around your leg before you bled to death.” He reached out, lightly caressing her wounded leg. His mouth compressed and his eyes grew dark. “After that, I remember a doctor shining a light in my eyes at a hospital in Hawaii.”

She frowned. “But Colonel Mackey said you were dead.” Her voice cracked and she buried her face against his chest. “Gomez and Buck carried me to the Medevac chopper. Gomez was sobbing over and over again that you were dead. I don’t remember much because I kept blacking out from loss of blood. All I know is when I was lying on the floor of that chopper, they said you were dead.” She looked up at him in confusion. “I—I regained consciousness in Bangkok and Mac told me you had died.” Her fingers lay knotted against him and her eyes grew anguished. “Why, Jim? Why did he tell me that?”

Jim winced as her voice cracked. “Shh, I don’t know, babe.” He combed his fingers slowly through her hair. “When I came out of the coma in Hawaii, Dr. Cornell kept me isolated in ICU for five days. I managed to get through and talk to my parents.” His mouth grew grim and he stroked her cheek. “Every time I tried to call you, the phone lines were screwed up. On the fifth day I sneaked out of ICU to find a pay phone. They said you were in San Diego, and I was going to try anything to reach you.”

“But—I was in Washington.” She gazed at him hungrily and absorbed his tense, stormy eyes.

He nodded. “I never got to a phone to find out. I was walking through a lobby and there was a TV. I glanced at it and I couldn’t believe my eyes. You were being questioned by Roman.”

She grimaced. “That was a horrible day. I’ll never forget it.”

“Neither of us will, Cathy.”

Rallying beneath his care, she raised her eyes. “Then what happened?”

“I knew, at that point, someone was lying to me about a lot of things. I went directly to Dr. Cornell’s office and demanded immediate release and a flight home. To here.” He smiled tenderly. “To you…”

Cathy managed her first, tentative smile, sliding her hand up his arm. “At least they didn’t make your parents suffer like I did.”

Jim kissed her brow, nose, eyes and, finally, her awaiting lips. “And you have suffered,” he whispered against her. “But that’s over. I’m here. We’re home. Together, like it should be.” He began a gentle campaign to love her.

He started to slowly undress her, taking each of the ten pearl buttons and sliding them free. His knuckles brushed her skin from time to time and Cathy felt warm and inviting to him. Just getting to make connection with her was more than he could ever have dreamed of. Watching her thick lashes come to rest, the hint of flush beginning to cover her cheeks, fed his soul and his pounding heart.

Feeling like a man lost in a desert, his soul starved, Jim slid his mouth with aching tenderness across her tear-bathed lips. Easing his hands beneath the black dress, spreading his fingers across her upper chest to her shoulders, the connection sent surges of love directly into his hungry heart. Her flesh was like velvet, firm, and he could feel her muscles responding beneath his grazing touch.

She wore a soft white bra made of cotton. He smiled to himself, thinking that although it was plain and utilitarian, it didn’t speak of the elegance or inner polish within Cathy’s heart and her rainbow soul.

Easing her into a sitting position, his arm behind her, he slid the dress off her shoulders and then eased her arms out of the sleeves. Cathy opened her eyes and he drowned in their moisture, in their luminosity, as he unsnapped her bra and drew it off her shoulders.

He had so much to tell her, so much he wanted to share and it all jammed up into a huge lump in his throat. Her breasts were small and perfectly rounded, pink nipples that had hardened as the fabric brushed them. Her body was painfully thin and as Jim ran his fingers down across her accentuated ribs, he began to understand how much she’d suffered in his absence. Grief had done this to her. He moved his palms across her torso, hearing her moan softly because he was going to cup her breasts.

She leaned toward him, filling his palms with her breasts, the trust she had with him shattering his heart. Jim felt the full weight of his guilt for what he’d done to Cathy and, yet, she still trusted him. Tears burned in his eyes and he shut them. Holding her breasts, his brow pressed against hers, his voice thick, he said, “I don’t deserve you, Cathy. God, I don’t. And I’m so damned sorry for what I’ve done to you.”

“Hush,” she whispered unsteadily, taking her hands and sliding them against his stubbled cheeks, kissing him gently, inhaling his male scent. “It’s in the past. I know why you did it, Jim. And I forgive you….”

Her soft, halting words destroyed him. Lifting his face to meet her tearful eyes that brimmed with love for him, he rasped, “I’m going to spend every day of my life loving you.” He saw her lips part, that soft lower lip tremble, and he took her as if she were fragile glass that might break. Licking her lower lip, he gently teethed it, feeling her respond, her breasts heavy and warm in his palms. As he released her lower lip, he brushed his thumbs across her nipples and her breath hitched, her eyes closing, her mouth curving warmly, deeply against his. He felt her arms slip around his shoulders and she pressed wantonly against him, asking for more pleasure, more of his touch.

The ridges of her ribs made him angry and Jim quickly shoved it all down as he reluctantly left her wet mouth. Getting Cathy to lie down, he stood and pulled the dress off her. He removed her shoes and realized she wore no nylons. Moving his callused hand up along her left calf, Jim saw the damage done to her beautiful, curved right thigh. The red scar tissue, the operation, were all there glaring back at him. Wincing internally, he felt himself tremble inwardly.

He hadn’t been there after Cathy was wounded, unable to support her, hold her hand, sleep in a chair at her bedside waiting for her to become conscious. She’d awakened to no one and it hurt him in ways he couldn’t describe. She’d been abandoned at birth, tossed from one foster family to another, no anchor, no one steady to be there for her. No one to help her up when she fell. No one to offer her a hand when she stumbled. No one to carry her when the loads got too much for her to bear.