Heat of the Moment (3 page)

James Rafferty looked older than Shane remembered. His dark hair was liberally streaked with gray and his strong face was lined with deep seams. His expression was wary as he approached Shane’s bed, as if he wasn’t sure he’d be welcome.

“Hello, son.”

His father’s dark eyes swept once over Shane’s body, his gaze touching briefly on the fading cuts and bruises that marred Shane’s face, neck, and arms, before lingering on the cast that enveloped his left leg from the knee down to his toes. His father’s throat worked convulsively, but when he met Shane’s eyes, he schooled his expression.

“How you feeling, boy?”

Like shit,
he wanted to respond. It had been nearly four weeks since the incident, and yet Shane’s entire body still ached, and his skin felt as if it had been sandblasted. His newly healed wounds felt pinched and tight. He had a bitch of a headache, and if he didn’t know better, he’d have thought he’d taken a direct hit from a rocket launched missile. But according to reports, it had been a hand grenade, and he’d been lucky—he’d been on the outer edge of the impact radius and might have sustained more serious injuries, but the bullet that had taken him out at the knees had also saved his life. If he hadn’t already been on the ground, he likely would have been killed.

So how was he doing? He shrugged. “I’m okay.”

The doctors had stitched him up and repaired his fractured leg and told him not to worry, he’d make a full recovery. But what they hadn’t warned him about were the nightmares that dragged him out of sleep each night, his heart racing and his body coated in sweat. They were always the same; he was sprinting through the battle to wards Holly. He could see her standing there, staring at him in horror through the smoke and debris, and he was driven by a desperate need to reach her. But he never made it. Each time, he’d watch her die before he could save her. Each time, her death was an agony that tore him apart. Then he’d wake up and realize he’d only been dreaming, but it would be long minutes before his heart rate slowed and his breathing returned to normal. He’d lie in bed and remind himself that Holly was alive, until the words became his mantra.
She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.

He didn’t know what he would do if anything happened to her. He’d spent the better part of the last ten years fighting his powerful attraction to her and telling himself that they had no future together, when the truth was he couldn’t envision a future—any future—without her in it. He might not be the right guy for her, but he wouldn’t hesitate to lay down his life to save hers. She was the reason he’d joined the military in the first place. One, he’d needed to get out of Chatham and away from Holly before he did something completely stupid, like sleep with her. Two, she came from a military family and he knew how much she respected service men and women. Part of him had dared to hope that if he joined the military
and
if he worked hard to rise through the ranks and if he could distinguish himself somehow, then maybe—just maybe—he could be worthy of her.

But then the unthinkable had happened; Holly had also joined the military and had somehow managed to end up assigned to the same base as himself. He wasn’t naive enough to believe any of it was coincidence, but he had a difficult time figuring out what it was she saw in him that would make her request a deployment to Iraq when she could have had her choice of assignments. Since the day she arrived at Al Asad Air Base, his mission had abruptly switched from combat to keeping her safe.

But he couldn’t escape the fact that his recurring nightmares had almost become reality. Holly had very nearly been killed. He’d read the incident report a dozen times, but the damned thing was he couldn’t recall a single detail of that day, or the attack that had nearly ended his life. The doctors told him the amnesia was temporary; a direct result of the concussion he’d sustained from the grenade. He’d been assured that his memory would return, but Shane had a nagging sense of unease that until it did, he was missing something vital.

“I wanted to come back sooner, but we’ve been busy at the track, what with the Preakness coming up next month,” his father was saying. He shifted uncomfortably. “But I’d have come anyway, if you’d wanted me to.”

Which clearly Shane hadn’t or he would have called him. His father didn’t say the words, but it was all there on his face.

Shane sighed.

“You didn’t need to come all the way up here,” he finally said, referring to the four-hour drive from Chatham, Virginia, to the medical center in Washington, D.C. “They’re releasing me today.”

James Rafferty dragged a hand through his hair and a fleeting frown crossed his face. “But that’s why I came,” he finally said. “To bring you home.”

Home.

Images of the three-room apartment over Benjamin’s Drugstore flitted through Shane’s mind. That cramped space had never been home to Shane. He hadn’t had a home since the day his mother had died and he and his father had moved to the pristine community of Chatham. The place may as well have been called Stepford, with its immaculate, white-pillared mansions and perfect, tree-lined streets. He’d fit into the quaint town like a rough-hewn square peg into a neat, round hole.

After the death of his mother, Shane’s father had withdrawn from everyone, including Shane. For nearly two years, he did little except drink and sleep. First he’d lost his job, and then he’d lost the house until, eventually, the only thing his father had left was his reputation—and Shane had known that unless they acted quickly, he’d lose that, too. His father had needed another job and the only thing he really knew was horses. Race horses, to be precise. He’d trained some of the best horses ever to run a racetrack, and once Shane had put the word out that his father was ready to get back into the business, the offers had begun trickling in.

Shane had chosen a job for his father at a stable in Chatham, despite the fact the position was not lead trainer. After two years away from the track, his father had needed to prove himself before anyone would give him that kind of opportunity again. It had taken several years, but James Rafferty was firmly back on his feet and despite the fact he could afford a new home, he hadn’t left the tiny apartment over the drug store, insisting that it suited his needs.

But returning to Chatham was the last thing Shane wanted to do, not because of his father but because of
her.
She’d be at her parents’ home, recovering from her own injuries and Shane didn’t want to risk running into her. Too much had happened for them to ever go back to the way things had been when they were teenagers.

He’d first seen Holly Durant soon after he’d moved to Chatham. He’d been barely seventeen and he’d taken a job working at the drugstore. Holly and her clique of giggling, sashaying girlfriends from Chatham Hall, the affluent girls’ boarding school in town where she was a day student, had liked to come into the drugstore for after school. He still probably never would have met her if he hadn’t become friends with her older brother, Mitch. Even then, when he and Mitch had become damn near inseparable and Shane spent more time at the Durant house than he did at his own, he hadn’t really made an effort to get to know Holly. He didn’t want to know her. Just the thought of talking to her had terrified him.

She’d been too pretty. Too mouthy.

Too good for him.

So he’d all but ignored her, telling himself there was no sense in chasing a pipe dream. Look where it had gotten his father. Nope, better to stick with what you knew and stay where you belonged.

And he definitely didn’t belong in Chatham.

He couldn’t imagine he’d be welcome there now, anyway, not after what had happened. Holly’s father was a retired Navy admiral and he and Holly’s mother were keystones of the small community. Shane had nothing but admiration and respect for them and he didn’t think he could bear their censure. After all, he’d let them down.

He’d let
her
down. He’d failed her.

He should have protected Holly but instead, he’d nearly gotten her killed. He’d read the incident report, which indicated he’d abandoned his position atop the gun truck and had raced through the firefight toward Holly
without due cause.
He might not be able to recall the attack, but he could guess why he’d done it—he’d wanted to protect Holly. Instead, she’d been forced to protect him and had nearly been killed in the process.

“I’m not going home,” he said darkly.

His father’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean you’re not coming home? I ain’t touched your room. It’s just the same as when you left it.” He indicated Shane’s leg. “’Course, the stairs might give you some trouble, but we’ll manage.”

“I said I’m not going back.”

“Where will you go, then? You got no place else to stay.” His father sounded baffled.

Shane looked away. He was right. He had nowhere else to go. He’d joined the military in order to get away from his father, from Holly, and from Chatham. Since then, he’d never stayed in one place long enough to buy a house or even lease an apartment. The doctors said he couldn’t return to active duty for at least three weeks, maybe longer. He could probably stay at the Marine barracks in Washington, D.C. or the Marine Corps base in Quantico until he recuperated, but the prospect held little appeal for him.

“He’s going to stay at the lake house.”

Both men turned at the sound of the deep voice, but Shane’s father was the first to recover, striding forward to grasp Mitch Durant’s hand and pump it furiously.

“Hell, boy,” he said, “it’s damned nice to see you. How long has it been? Three years? Four? You look good. The uniform suits you. How’s your sister? I hear she saved my boy’s life. I’d like to thank her properly, if she’s up for a visit.”

In his crisp Navy dress uniform, Mitch looked every inch an officer and a gentleman. The double silver bars on his collar denoted his rank as Lieutenant and for the first time, Shane was acutely conscious of the difference in their status. The last he’d heard, Mitch was doing a six-month deployment aboard the USS Lincoln, an aircraft carrier that patrolled Middle Eastern waters. He’d obviously come home to be with his sister and another pang of guilt washed over Shane.

“Holly will recover, sir,” Mitch was saying. “Her arm is busted up pretty good, but otherwise she’s okay.”

He was glossing over her condition, and Shane knew it. By the time he’d regained consciousness and recovered enough to even think about Holly, he’d been told that she’d already been released from the hospital. He’d persisted in knowing her condition and after days of badgering the nursing staff he’d learned that the bone in her arm had been shattered by the bullet, and only a series of metal plates and screws had been able to repair it.

And it was all his fault. If he’d just stayed with his gun, instead of trying to be a hero…

Mitch walked toward Shane’s bed with careful deliberation. He extended his hand and Shane took it.

“Hey, man,” Mitch said. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m okay.”

To his immense relief, there was no censure in Mitch’s eyes, no recriminations. Only the same genuine warmth and friendship that he had grown to rely on since they were kids.

“You look like hell,” Mitch observed, one corner of his mouth lifting in a wry grin. “But I think it might actually be an improvement.”

Shane knew he referred to the lacerations and bruises on his face. He had seen his reflection for the first time that morning, when the nurses had finally relented and let him take a real shower on his own. They’d seemed disappointed when he’d declined the bedside sponge baths they had been providing him each day since his arrival. To his way of thinking, their dedication to his hygiene had been just a tad too thorough.

Shane felt a reluctant smile tug at his mouth. “Yeah, well you always were jealous of my good looks.” He glanced over at his father and lowered his voice. “So what’s this about the lake house?”

He didn’t really need to ask the question. Mitch understood why he didn’t want to stay with his father and by offering up the lake house, he was giving Shane an excuse not to have to. But Shane had no intention of accepting the invitation.

He couldn’t think about the lake house without his imagination conjuring up images of Holly, slim and naked and sexy as hell, wrapping herself around him like she couldn’t get enough of him. He’d known that she’d harbored a crush on him since she was a teenager. She’d followed him everywhere with that damned camera of hers, snapping pictures of him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. But he wasn’t boyfriend material, and he definitely wasn’t husband material. He’d seen what marriage to his father had done to his mother. He’d never be able to provide Holly with the kind of lifestyle she was accustomed to, and he wouldn’t be responsible for turning her into a bitter, unhappy woman. Maybe if things had been different…

He could still recall that Christmas Eve, when she’d followed him down to the wine cellar and kissed him. It was the best Christmas gift he’d ever received, only he hadn’t wanted to stop there. He’d wanted to consume her, to push himself into her warmth until she no longer knew where her body ended and his began.

He’d wanted to inhale her, to absorb her through his very pores. But he’d pulled away, and he’d kept away for the next four years. He hadn’t trusted himself to let her get too close. It hadn’t been until the night of her graduation party that he’d let down his guard.

Holly had just graduated from the Naval Academy and her mother had sent him an invitation to help celebrate at the lake house. He was sure she’d done it more out of respect for the friendship he had with Mitch than for any relationship he had with Holly, but he hadn’t been able to resist going. He’d been stationed at Camp Lejeune, so he’d requested a couple of days leave and had driven from North Carolina to the house in southwestern Virginia. He’d needed to know if his memories of her had been accurate.