Guarding the Soldier's Secret (13 page)

Oh, how I’ve missed this. How I’ve missed you!

She hadn’t known how much. The screamed
no!
inside her head became a fading echo, drowned by the joyous, resounding
yes! Oh, yes.
She wanted to sob with the contradictions of anguish and elation, of grief and of bliss. How had she failed to realize that what she felt for him was so much more than a physical dalliance? Had she lied to herself, knowing to expect or hope for anything more was futile? And now he was here, holding her, kissing her, and she could no longer deny it. She wanted it to never end.

Except, of course, it would. This was Hunt, who never stayed for long.

She knew she should pull away. Instead, she leaned into him until her breasts pressed against his chest. She felt the hard seams and buttons and edges of his clothing through her thin shift and felt naked.

One of his arms moved higher on her back and his hand cupped her head, supporting it against the invasion of his mouth and tongue. She felt the warm, firm muscle of his neck against her palms, then the cool silkiness of his hair feathering through her fingers. She felt weightless, lost in a vortex of sensation and need. Her breath became a silent scream.

Then...somehow, her feet were once again touching earth. She sucked in air and felt the rapid thumping of a heartbeat against her ear. Felt strong arms holding her tightly, fingers pushing through her hair, hot breath against her temple.

“My God, Yankee.” Hunt’s voice was hoarse...guttural. “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

She found that she, too, was capable of forming words. One word. “Yes.”

He lifted his head and turned hers so he could look into her face. The patio lights would make hers visible to him, she knew, as it cast his into shadow. “Yes?” he murmured, and it was a question.

Somewhere off in the night a coyote gave its sharp, yipping bark, and the world crashed in on her like a breaking wave. The faintest of breezes came to cool the sweat on her throat. She shivered.

He felt her body tense and brought one hand up to cup the side of her face, his thumb sliding across her moistened lips. “Yankee...”

Her head moved, a quick, desperate shake. Her voice was hoarse. “No. I can’t. We can’t. Not here.”

“We’ve always managed before. In worse circumstances than these. There’s always the pool...” He kept his voice light, teasing, but his heartbeat had quickened with the realization that the moment had already slipped away.

She pulled herself free, and although he could feel the reluctance in her and knew if he wanted to he could change her mind, he let her go. She drew the sides of her wrap around her and held them in place with her folded arms. He thought she might be shivering and fought the urge to wrap her again in his arms.

When she spoke, her voice was steady but tense, as if it cost her to make it seem so. “It’s not the same. You know it’s not. What we had—it was a long time ago, Hunt. Things are different now.”

“Because of Laila.”

“Yes. And... Yes, because of Laila. I have a child to think about—”

“So do I,” he said softly.

“—and she’s my first priority,” she said, as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Well, mine, too,” he said, batting it thoughtlessly back at her. In the moonlight he could see her unsmiling gaze.

“That’s not true,” she said gently. “You know it isn’t.”

He couldn’t answer her. After a long silence, she turned away from him, still hugging her wrap around her. “Hunt, thank you for checking out the security, and for letting me know we’re safe here. But you need to go now. I need to get back inside. If Laila wakes up and I’m not there... Besides, I’m getting cold.”

He stood and watched her go, moving slowly at first, as if she didn’t quite trust her legs, then running lightly up the curving stone steps and disappearing onto the upper deck. After a moment, he heard the scrape of the sliding door...open, then shut. He swore under his breath.

Grainger, you’re an idiot.

He told himself that, and a good many other things even less complimentary, as he made his way down the brush and boulder-strewn hillside without the light of the vanished moon. He’d known it was a mistake, coming to see her. And he’d come anyway. The pull she had on him...

What
was
the hold she had on him? He’d always thought it was just lust, and sure, he desired her, hungered for her when he came off a mission, couldn’t wait to bury himself in her for the comfort and release she gave him. But it wasn’t any more than that.
Was it?

These past three years he’d kept her in a box with the lid tightly shut, put away in the attic of his mind, fully expecting he’d open it when the mission was completed and find her waiting for him, all unchanged.

Stupid idea.

Even without Laila, she’d have changed—of course she would have. He knew that.

But there
was
Laila.
His child.
Yancy was his daughter’s
mother
.

Was she right? Did that fact change
everything
? Did it change the way she felt about him? The way he felt about
her
?

The whole thing had him confused, and he didn’t like the feeling. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. Didn’t even know what he was feeling right
now
. Furious with himself, for sure. And probably some guilt. Okay, definitely guilt.

That’s not true
, she’d said.
You know it isn’t.

Well, dammit, of course she was right—his child had never been his first priority. His mission was, always had been. It had to be. Loyalty, dedication, single-mindedness—those qualities were what made him a success in his chosen profession. They were what kept him alive. The fact that he’d fathered a child—however unplanned and unexpected—was something he’d dealt with in the best way he knew how and a secret he kept buried deep in the protected place in his heart, along with the rest of his personal stuff. The stuff that had no place in the daily reality of a soldier’s life. He didn’t regret that—how could he? He’d provided for his child’s safety, hadn’t he? She was happy; she had a mother...

The trouble was, his secret child wasn’t a secret anymore, and his feelings for her couldn’t be ignored. The box he’d put her—and Yancy Malone—into for safekeeping was open, and it was a Pandora’s box full of feelings and emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

Now. At the worst possible time. He had a mission to complete.

There’s always a mission.

Yes, but this was too important. It had to be his top priority right now. Dammit, it
had
to be. The great conference of Afghanistan’s tribal leaders was less than a month away. He had only a couple of weeks, at best, to secure the vote that would unite the warring tribes once and for all against the Taliban. To form an alliance that would stand long after the US troops were gone.

It won’t always be like this. When this is over...

But what then? Wouldn’t there always be another mission? Another war? Could he change his life, become something—
someone
—else? Would he want to? He was a soldier; it was all he knew how to be.

An image flashed into his mind—or call it a specter, a recurring nightmare. Whatever it was, it had haunted him in his youth, though not for a long time. But it came to him now, along with the old familiar coldness in his belly, the wash of bleak despair in his soul. It was the view from the front porch of the farmhouse he’d grown up in: blue skies overhead, big trees shading a raggedy lawn, a rope swing stirring in the ever-present wind, and beyond that a dirt lane between fields of corn or wheat, a dirt lane that led, not to the paved road he knew lay just over the rise, but on and on and on toward the empty horizon and...nothing.

It was what had sent him running for his life as soon as he was able, away from the farm, the life his parents loved and had wanted for their only son, running in spite of the guilt that still haunted him for disappointing two of the people he loved most in the world. He’d hated doing that to them, but he’d felt he had no choice. He couldn’t have stayed. It was that simple.

He shivered, thinking of those days, wondering why the nightmare should return just now to bathe him in cold sweat. The burden of guilt he’d carried for so many years had eased some when his sister had married a neighbor’s son, a great guy with farming in his blood who’d been happy to step into the shoes Hunt had abdicated. And his mom and dad had been proud of the man he’d become; he knew that. So why now?

I have a child. Could that have something to do with it?

He didn’t know.

And then there was Yancy.

He didn’t even know how he felt about her. Sure, his body still ached and burned with wanting her. And leaving her had left him feeling torn and sore somewhere deep inside him that had nothing to do with sex denied. He knew the thought of returning to his house in Kabul made him feel lonely in a way it hadn’t before.

Before she came back into my life.

And brought the fear with her.

Chapter 10

Y
ancy had always been an early riser. Add to that the fact that her body clock was still set to some distant time zone, and it wasn’t surprising she did no more sleeping after Hunt’s unexpected and upsetting visit. She alternated between wide-awake and semidreaming, and sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. In her dreams, Hunt returned and slipped into her bed, and she didn’t turn him away. However, she couldn’t respond to his lovemaking because she was terrified Laila, sleeping in the next bed, would wake up and find them together. In full wakefulness, she lay wretched and miserable and sick at heart, wishing she could find the off button for her brain.

Thankfully, Laila’s body clock was set to the same time zone, so it was barely dawn before she was hopping out of bed, chipper as a sparrow and demanding to go to see if Sam had delivered the goats he’d promised her.

“Honey, he only promised last night,” Yancy protested, while knowing argument would be futile. “I don’t think the goats will be here already this morning, do you?”

Laila tipped her head to one side and considered that for a moment, then said, “Yes, they will.” She went hopping and skipping off to dig some clean clothes out of her suitcase.

* * *

Josie, the nice lady who fixed everybody breakfast, came out to the patio while Laila was finishing up the last bite of her French toast with fresh strawberries.

“Oh, good—you’re finished just in time,” Josie said, smiling a big wide smile. “Sage is waiting for you out in front.”

“Does he have my goats?” Laila asked, licking some whipped cream and strawberry juice off her fingers.

“I think he might,” said Josie, “but you’ll have to go and see for yourself.”

Laila gave her mother a “see, I told you” look and hopped down from her chair, then added generously, “You can come, too, Mom.”

Outside, Laila found a white pickup truck parked beside the wide front steps. The motor was running, and Sage was sitting in the driver’s seat with the window rolled down and one elbow hanging out. Freckles was in the back, so excited to see her he was wiggling all over. Laila went over to pet him and looked into the back of the pickup.

“I don’t see any goats,” she said accusingly to Sage.

Her mom said, “Laila!”

Sage said, “That’s because they’re down at my place. If you want to go and see them, you’d better hop in.”

Laila caught her breath and looked at her mom. Mom nodded. Laila ran around to the other side of the pickup, and her mom was there to open the door for her. Laila climbed in, and her mom followed and shut the door. It was a little bit of a tight squeeze, but Laila was so excited she was barely sitting down anyway. She could feel her heart beating very fast. She couldn’t believe she was going to have goats. Would they be her very own? she wondered.

She sat rigid on the seat beside her mom, stretching to see out of the front window of the pickup. Down the lane they went, past the tall trees, past the fence where the horses lived and where she’d met the very old man named Sam, who had told her he was her great-grandfather.

And he told Sage to get me some goats. That must mean they are mine, really truly mine. Mustn’t it?

A little farther on they turned down another lane that led to a big barn and a little white house with a blue door and big trees in the front yard. Sage stopped the pickup beside the big open barn door, and the very beautiful lady with blond hair came out. She was smiling and holding something black and furry in her hands, tucked up under her chin.

“Oh, look, it’s a kitten,” Laila’s mom said as she got out of the pickup. She went over to the blonde lady, whose name was Abby. Abby gave Mom the kitten, which she cradled under
her
chin, talking baby talk to it. “Listen—it’s purring,” she said to Laila. “Would you like to hold it?”

“Maybe later. Goats first,” said Laila in a firm voice. She had a tight feeling in her chest because she was afraid the goats might not be real and she couldn’t believe they were real until she saw them herself.

Sage laughed quietly and touched her shoulder. “This way.”

Laila walked beside him into the barn, which was big and shadowy and quiet. Sage didn’t say anything and neither did she as they walked together toward another big wide door at the far end. Sunlight was shining through the doorway, and it looked like a golden ladder leading clear up to the sky. She and Sage walked into the sunlight and then they were outside again in a dusty pen. Sage opened a gate on one side of the pen and held it for her so she could walk through into another, smaller pen. At first she didn’t see anything, and her heart was thumping so loudly she couldn’t hear anything, either. Then...

“Maaa!”

Her breath burst from her like air from a balloon. She looked up at Sage and he nodded. She looked back at the shadows beside the fence, and there was the most beautiful creature Laila had ever seen. She was shiny black with white spots, and her ears were long and hung down beside her head like a bonnet. She didn’t have horns, and her nose was high and curved so that she seemed to be looking down at everyone.

“She looks like a queen,” Laila whispered. She couldn’t stop looking at the beautiful black-and-white goat.

“Yeah, I guess she does,” Sage said. “Is that what you’re going to name her?”

Laila jerked her eyes upward to stare at him. “Do I get to name her? Really?”

Sage shrugged. “She’s your goat. So, you want to name her Queen?”

Laila shook her head. “No, her name is Mor. That means
mother
in my old language.” She pointed. “See? She has babies. She’s a Mor.” She wanted to laugh but was afraid she would start to cry instead. She pressed both hands hard against her mouth as she watched two smaller goats step out of the shadows. They moved with dainty steps, like the gazelles she’d seen on the nature shows on television. They both had long ears like their mother, and one was all black and one was mostly white with black spots.

“I think they’re shy,” Laila whispered.

“Little bit scared,” Sage agreed. “They just need time to get used to their new home. And you. What are you going to name the little ones?”

Laila studied the baby goats for a moment, then pointed at the black one. “That’s Jasmine. And
that
one is Belle.”

“Huh—good names,” Sage said. “Any particular reason why those?”

Laila gave him the look she thought such ignorance deserved. “Because they’re
girls
, right? And their mother is a
queen
, so...that means they are
princesses
.” Sage just looked at her. She heaved a sigh. “Well, Jasmine and Belle are
princess
names, of course. Don’t you know
anything
?”

“Laila!”

Her mom had her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. “Apologize to Sage for being rude. You know better than that.”

“Sorry,” said Laila.

“Well,” said Sage, “I don’t know much about princesses. You’re right about that.” He grinned at her and Laila grinned back.

“Ready for the grand tour?” he asked.

“Abby and Sage are going to show us around the rest of the ranch,” Mom said.

“Can’t I stay here with my goats? They have to get used to me. Sage said so.”

Mom looked at Sage, and Sage shrugged. “Don’t see why not. She’ll be fine.” Mom looked like she wasn’t so sure about that, but she went off with Abby and Sage anyway.

After all the grown-ups went away it seemed very quiet in the pen. Mor stood on the other side of the pen and looked at Laila. Jasmine and Belle hid behind their mother and wouldn’t come out. Laila wanted very much to pet them all, but she knew if she tried they would probably run away and be even more afraid of her. She stood very still and began to talk to them, telling them what a nice little girl she was and how much she loved goats and would never ever hurt them. Then she sang to them, a song in her old language she didn’t know how she knew—she just did.

The goats went on looking at her from the other side of the pen.

“Oh, I wish I had some apples,” Laila said out loud. “I bet you would come if I had something to feed you.”

“Grain’s better,” said a crackly voice.

Laila gasped—and looked up. Way up. And there was Sam, looking at her over the top of the fence. She could see that he was sitting on a horse, the spotted one he called Old Paint.

“Well, what’re you waiting for? Go get ’em some grain.”

“I don’t know where the grain is.”

“In the barn, of course,” said Sam.

“Yes, but—”

“In great big bags with pictures of cows and goats and sheep on ’em. You don’t even need to know how to read to find ’em.”

“I can read!” Laila informed him, beginning to feel a little angry. “I can read very well.”

“Can you, now.” Sam made a squeaky sound. She thought maybe he was laughing. “Girl, it doesn’t do you any good to know how to read if you don’t have a brain to figure out what it means. Go on, now—get your goats some grain. If you’re gonna have animals, you better learn how to take care of ’em.”

Laila was furious. And scared, because she didn’t know how to do what Sam wanted her to do, but she was afraid if she asked one more question Sam would get mad at her. So she went stomping off to the barn, fists clenched at her sides, blinking to keep away the tears.

Inside the barn she stopped to let her eyes get used to the shadows, and out of nowhere a cat came and brushed against her legs. She bent down to pet the cat, and when she straightened up, she saw a pile of sacks over to one side, in front of the big stack of hay. One sack was sitting up on its end in front of the pile, and she could see it had pictures of cows and goats and sheep on it. It was even open. Almost as if someone had known she would need it and had left it for her on purpose.

She went over to the sack and put her hands in the grain. It felt moist. She picked up a handful and sniffed it. It smelled good.

She needed something to carry grain to Mor and her children. But what? She really didn’t want to have to go back outside and ask Sam
again
. She could almost hear his crackly voice:
Girl, it doesn’t do you any good to know how to read if you don’t have a brain...

She didn’t want Sam to think she didn’t have a brain. She wasn’t sure why she cared what Sam thought, but she did.

And then she saw it. A bucket.

She carried the bucket over to the sack of grain and, using her two hands together, scooped grain into it. She spilled some even though she tried her best not to. When she thought it looked like enough grain to feed one big goat and two little ones, she dragged the bucket outside into the sunshine.

Sam was still sitting on his horse on the other side of the goats’ pen. He didn’t say anything when he saw Laila with the bucket, but he nodded, and for some reason that made her feel quite proud of herself. However, she didn’t want Sam to know how pleased she was, so she poked her tongue into one side of her cheek to keep herself from smiling as she bumped her way through the gate with the bucket of grain.

Mor smelled the grain and came right over and stuck her head in the bucket. Laila managed to get one hand into the bucket to grab some grain, which she held out to Belle and Jasmine, cooing and calling to them in a soft voice. Jasmine came slowly and nibbled at the grain in Laila’s hand. Laila giggled—she couldn’t help it.

“Better get used to feeding those critters,” Sam said. “That’s your job from now on, you know. Every day, morning and night. No days off, either.”

“I will,” Laila promised. She felt quivery with happiness.

“Somethin’ else. Now you’ve got your goats, you better be thinkin’ about payin’ for ’em.”

Laila stared up at Sam. “P-p-pay for them? But... I don’t have any money.”

He snorted. “Girl, I don’t want your money. I’ve already got more’n I know what to do with. Nope—the way it works is, I did something for you, gettin’ you your goats. Now you got to do something for me.”

“Like what?” Laila was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

He made that squeaky sound again. “Well, now, there’s no need to look like you just lost your last friend. It’s nothing so terrible. All you got to do, if you want to keep those goats, is let me teach you how to ride a horse.”

* * *

“Laila’s going to be sorry she missed seeing the baby chickens,” Yancy said, pausing at the gate to the goats’ pen. “She’s crazy about babies—of any kind.”

“They’ll still be here tomorrow,” Abby said. “She’s welcome to come see them anytime.”

Sage had taken his pickup truck and gone back to the fields, leaving the two women to finish the tour of the old adobe ranch house and its orchards and animals. Yancy was becoming more and more intrigued by the tall, slender blonde woman who, in spite of her beauty and Sage’s obvious adoration, seemed to consider herself an outsider—perhaps even an intruder. She’d mentioned she’d once been a dancer in New York City, and the reporter in Yancy sensed there was a good bit more to the story of how a big-city girl had found her way to a ranch in the California mountains.

She vowed to find out what that story was, but there would be plenty of time for that later. Now she nodded and smiled and said, “I’m sure she’ll do that. I’m guessing sooner rather than later.” She pushed open the gate, calling, “Laila?”

The occupants of the pen lifted their heads to gaze at her, still chewing industriously at whatever had been in the large white bucket at their feet.

“Laila?” She turned to Abby. “Where do you suppose she went?”

“I didn’t see her in the barn. Maybe she went looking for us. She must have gone around one side of the house while we came around the other. I’ll go see.”

Yancy nodded as Abby disappeared into the shadows of the barn. It seemed pointless to follow in her footsteps, so, after a moment’s indecision, Yancy climbed up onto the corral fence and shaded her eyes as she surveyed the empty pens and the pasture beyond. “Laila!” she called. And again. “Laila!”

Except for the placid chewing of the goats in the pen below, there was no sound. Uneasiness became fear that crawled down her spine like a trickle of icy water. Her mind flashed...