Bring Him Home Page 14

  Defending Steve. She loved and hated him for that. “I don’t believe he had any intention of quitting,” she said. “You know why? Because he didn’t tell you about our deal at the beginning of the tour. I even know why he didn’t tell you.”

  His turn to avoid her eyes. Oh, yes, Nate knew, too. Claire said it anyway.

  “Because he didn’t want you badgering him to do the right thing.” Blindly she set down the brush.

  “Hell, Claire, don’t torture yourself.”

  She found herself caught to a broad, bare chest and kept her arms rigidly by her sides, overwhelmed by an avalanche of conflicting emotions—sadness, anger, a resurgence of grief for Steve along with a dawning suspicion that her life was sweeping in a direction she hadn’t anticipated.

  “I only told you about the accident to show how often you were in Steve’s thoughts.” Nate’s chest lay warm and smooth against her cheek, his rapid heartbeat at odds with the gentle stroking of fingers on her hair. Claire closed her eyes on a horrified revelation. Lust was bad enough, but this…not this.

  She pushed free, shielding her face so he wouldn’t see her confusion. “I’m okay.”

  His hand landed on her shoulder, tightened. “I figured if you knew how much Steve loved you…”

  She’d forgive him. “I don’t doubt that Steve loved me,” she said, because one of them could be comforted. That didn’t fix everything, but Claire wasn’t going to go into it with the guy threatening to tilt her world on its axis.

  If she ever fell in love again it would be with a man wholly unconnected to her past, to Steve, to the SAS. Not her husband’s best friend, not the guy still mourning him. The hand on her shoulder suddenly felt like a weight, a burden. She didn’t need these feelings, didn’t want them.

  Suddenly his earlier rejection felt like a lucky escape.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “That’s sorted then.” Giving him an impersonal smile, Claire moved away, all bustle and purpose, and Nate dropped his hand. “We need to clean up if we’re going to catch low tide. I’ll rinse out an empty paint pail…. It’s perfect for collecting shellfish. You wash the brushes.”

  What could he say, “don’t shut me out”? He’d rejected her shy overture to achieve precisely this outcome. “That’s right, I can’t leave without a feed of pipi fritters,” he said. Steamed, then chopped and mixed in a beer batter, the small, sweet shellfish were a must-eat culinary experience during a Stingray Bay stay.

  As he soaked the brushes in turpentine, Nate told himself he’d won. He’d done his job as trustee, redeemed Steve in Claire’s eyes and resisted the temptation to risk their friendship by taking it to the next level. Watching the paint dissolve in the solvent, he strove for a sense of victory, but all he felt was hollow, scraped out inside.

  But he did his best to match Claire’s light chatter as they walked across the mudflats to where the estuary twisted in a thin ribbon out to sea.

  He’d get past this. Once he was back in L.A., thousands of miles from this woman, he’d be okay again. Nate crouched to dig in the wet sand, his fingers scrabbling for the shellfish. The water was chill, out of the hothouse that was the boat shed, and the sun had lost its power to a gusty wind channeled along the exposed sand.

  Claire wiped her hands clean on her pants, then untied the coveralls’ sleeves around her waist and covered up, loosening her hair in the process. It streamed out behind her, accentuating the fine bones of her face. Something clenched inside him, Nate fixed the image in his memory. He wasn’t going to torture himself by coming home again.

  She turned to him, her hair whipping across her cheeks and he battled an impulse to smooth it away. Then Nate saw the apprehension in her blue eyes. “What is it?”

  “We have visitors.”

  He followed her gaze to the bach. Three figures stood on the deck. A waving tow-haired youth, flanked by two men, who stood with arms folded and legs planted. Nate swore. “Ellie broke her word.”

  “No,” said Claire. “I did.”

  His attention swung to her. “Goddamn it, we had an agreement!”

  She took a deep breath. “You need to see them, Nate, as much for your sake as theirs. I think it will help you.”

  “I don’t need help. I need to be left alone.”

  “I wish there was time for me to be subtle about this, but there’s not. You’ve been left alone for eighteen months and you’re still screwed up about the ambush. And this isn’t just about you.” She returned her son’s wave. “It’s about Lewis who lost his dad and shouldn’t have to lose his uncle Nate, too. It’s about giving Dan one less person to worry about as his wife approaches her two-year checkup after a mastectomy.” She read his shock. “That’s right, Nate. Jo had cancer. He didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to worry you.”

  He would not be manipulated like this. “Coming out swinging doesn’t further your cause.”

  “It’s still better than being terrified by how much you’ll hurt my son if you walk now.”

  Shit. She had him. Reluctantly, he raised his hand and returned Lewis’s greeting.

  Apparently satisfied, the three watchers disappeared into the bach. “Thank you,” Claire said unsteadily and bent to rinse her sandy hands at the water’s edge. Nate picked up the bucket of pipis. In a low voice, she added, “Right now, I’m as eager to have you gone as you are to go. But this is about doing what’s best for everybody, not only me.”

  He was too angry to pretend not to understand her. “How can you be attracted to a man like me anyway? You said yourself, I’m screwed up. I’m transient and I dumped one of your friends. And that’s only scratching the surface of why we shouldn’t do anything about this.”

  Damn. He’d acknowledged he felt something in return. And by the flare of cognizance in her eyes, she’d picked it up, too. Things had just got harder.

  She wiped her hands dry on her coveralls. “I don’t want our relationship to change. My life’s finally getting simple.”

  “So we’re agreed,” he said. “We forget it.”

  “Yes, let’s forget it.” She didn’t hide her relief.

  “Good,” he said gruffly.

  They headed back and the water-laden sand sucked at his bare feet with every step.

  “Dan and Ross are only here overnight,” she said. “All I ask is that you keep an open mind.”

  “You’re expecting a Hallmark moment.” Nate gave a mirthless laugh. “Those guys are going to crucify me.”

  * * *

  “Women and children first,” Nate said when they reached the bach. He so wasn’t ready for this.

  “It’ll be fine,” she reassured him, and entered with a smile. “Where’s my sheep-dagging expert?”

  Nate stopped at the threshold, watching riveted as Claire threw her arms around the lanky teenager. Lewis rolled his eyes but returned her hug with a quick convulsive squeeze that suggested he’d missed her.

  God, he’d grown. Taller than Claire, blond fringe falling over his eyes, this wasn’t the eleven-year-old who’d clung to her hand through the funeral service.

  Claire went to kiss his cheek and Lewis warned in a deep voice, “Mum, be cool. I’ve only been gone a week.”

  “Hey, I’m allowed to miss you, aren’t I?” But laughing, she let him go, crossing to hug Ross and Dan who stood up from the couch. But Nate couldn’t tear his attention from Lewis.

  Achingly familiar hazel eyes met his, Lewis said with awkward casualness, “Hey.” Then blushed because his voice had hit a high note.

  Nate just stared at him.

  Lewis’s blush deepened. Clearly embarrassed, he gestured to the bucket Nate carried. “Mum makes everyone who comes to stay collect pipis. She thinks of it as a must-do Stingray Bay treat.” He ducked his head. “Sorry, I forgot. You’ve been collecting pipis here forever.”

  Nate realized he should say something. “You look a lot like your dad.”

  “Yeah, everyone says that.” The teenager shuffled his feet and Nat
e inwardly swore. He’d said the wrong thing. Defining the kid first by his loss.

  Nate set the bucket down. “Bad luck, mate, when you might have inherited your mum’s good looks.”

  Lewis’s head jerked up, he gave a snort of laughter. Hand outstretched, Nate moved forward, though it felt like walking on broken glass. “It’s good to see you.”

  Swallowing convulsively, Lewis’s hand grabbed his and Nate couldn’t stop himself hauling the teenager into a bear hug as emotion swamped him. He’d been an honorary uncle to this kid.

  “You too,” Lewis said, and the break in his voice had nothing to do with puberty. “I missed you.”

  When they broke apart, Nate looked over at Ross and Dan. “Guys,” he said.

  Neither of them responded, except by a tightening of jaw. an accusing stare. The silence grew awkward, heat rushed to Nate’s face. He set his own jaw.

  Claire moved first, hooking her arm through a puzzled Lewis’s. “Let’s go outside and soak the pipis in fresh water to make them spit out any sand,” she suggested. “There’s nothing worse in fritters. And I want to hear all about your holiday.”

  She cast Nate an anxious glance as she and Lewis left, and he returned a grim smile. Not so confident now she’d done the right thing.

  By unspoken consensus, they waited for the sound of voices to fade away. It gave Nate an opportunity to study the two stony-faced men opposite.

  Despite the season, Dan was tanned from his new life as a farmer. Like Nate, he’d grown out his military haircut, and his brown-gold hair flopped untidily over his forehead. Shep. The good shepherd. Flying home, Claire had told him that Dan had weathered survivor’s guilt. Now he’d learned his friend’s bride, Jo, had battled cancer.

  A blowfly swept in the open door then buzzed, distressed, around the window. Ross let it out. As he crossed the room his limp was pronounced and Nate averted his gaze. It had been torture listening to the increasing desperation in his voice when Ross phoned to talk up his rehab progress. He lived for deployment. His mate had recently conceded defeat and accepted a teaching position within the SAS.

  When he’d passed through L.A. last month en route to New York with Viv, Dan’s sister, Nate had made excuses not to see them. He couldn’t face the Iceman in his final disillusionment. As for finding true love, Ross was clearly scrabbling for some kind of substitute. All Nate foresaw was an emotional pileup further down the track when Ice realized it and broke Viv’s heart.

  The fly was released and Ross turned from the window, his gray gaze hard. “You better have a good explanation for this, Nate. What the hell are you playing at, coming home and not telling us?”

  “I didn’t expect to be here more than a couple days. I figured there wasn’t time to catch up properly.”

  “Don’t treat us like fools,” said Dan. “You’ve cut us loose.”

  Fine, if they wanted it blunt. “If I can’t be the person I was, then it’s better this way.”

  “You dumb asshole,” said Ross. “You could be a freakin’ amoeba and you’d still be a brother. And the only reason I’m not throwing a punch right now is because you had such a dipshit upbringing you don’t get that.”

  “We should never have pandered to his wanting to be left alone.” Dan turned to Nate. “The only reason we left this intervention so long was because we were both in the same crazy headspace.”

  Nate felt the pressure build. He couldn’t let these men bulldoze themselves back into his life. He wasn’t one of them anymore.

  Ross’s voice softened to a growl. “You seriously think I’m going to abandon the guy who saved my life?”

  Something inside Nate snapped. And for what? Permanent disability, for a slow painful disillusionment, for a half life. “And are you glad, Ross? You can’t be a real soldier anymore, do the thing you loved most. And don’t bullshit me that teaching is doing it for you, I won’t believe it.”

  He waited for Ross’s blow, but it was Dan who hit him. Nate glimpsed the fist in his peripheral vision, and was too surprised to duck. Dan pulled the punch at the last second, but it was enough to send Nate flying across the living room and crashing into the dining table, toppling two chairs in the process. He landed on his ass, half jammed under the table, the chairs across his legs. His jaw ached and he touched it gingerly, still astonished.

  Shep had hit him. Shep, who’d led the retrieval team, who’d argued with the surgeon who wanted to cut off Ross’s leg and who’d supported Claire through the funeral because Nate couldn’t.

  “Well,” Nate said, cradling his jaw. “This is one fun reunion.”

  Dan looked dazed. “I didn’t know I was going to do that. I’m sorry.”

  “Make your goddamn apologies to me,” Ross snapped. “I don’t know who I’m more pissed with. You, Dan, for thinking I can’t defend myself, or Nate for believing I’m still a mono-dimensional prick. FYI, Nate, the only thing my disability does is level the playing field for you. Even now I can whip your ass in close-quarter combat.”

  There was the sound of running footsteps and they all froze. None of them had thought of Claire and Lewis in this. Dan righted the chairs; Ross hauled Nate upright by his T-shirt.

  Lewis burst into the bach, Claire on his heels. “We heard a crash,” said the boy.

  Ross massaged his leg. “My fault, still a little clumsy. I knocked over a chair.”

  Claire’s gaze settled on Nate’s jaw and her eyes widened.

  “I dived for the chair,” he preempted the question. “Went for a skate.”

  “Is that why the side of your face is all red?” said Lewis.

  “He clipped it on the table when he fell,” Dan supplied.

  Nate saw the instant Claire realized what had happened. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth tightened. Walking over, she laid her open palm against his aching jaw. Her hand was icy cold from the outside tap and the chill immediately soothed the pain.

  “Better?” she said softly.

  The ache moved to his heart. “Sure.”

  Hand cupping his face, she said over her shoulder, “Lewis, there are frozen peas in the shed freezer. Go get them for me, will you, hon?” When he’d left, Claire lifted her palm, then hit Nate’s cheek in a short, sharp slap that made his eyes water. Stepping away, she glared at each of them in turn. “If you guys need to do this, fine, but next time make sure it’s nowhere near my son. And this better have a happy ending because I sure as hell can’t take another tragic one. Am I clear?”

  “Next time I’ll take him into the dunes,” Dan promised.

  “We can go now if you want,” Nate retorted. “If it helps, I’ll even let you win.”

  “In your dreams, Hollywood. You’re in the real world here.”

  “I’ll take on the winner,” Ross said. “Show you both how it’s done.”

  “Cool,” Lewis returned, tossing and catching the packet of frozen peas like a football. “Can I watch?”

  Claire closed her eyes. “I’m making you all chamomile tea.”

  “Mummmm,” said Lewis in an agonized tone, but Nate smiled. It hurt.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cradling a cup of cocoa, Claire watched her son with Nate across the flames. Nate was tuning Lewis’s acoustic guitar while the teenager stifled yawns. It was after ten-thirty and he should really be in bed, but she couldn’t bring herself to send him. His time with Nate was too short, too precious.

  After dinner, they’d built a bonfire on the beach like the old days and all sat around it on deck chairs carted down from the bach. Beside her, Dan and Ross talked rugby with the endless enthusiasm that Kiwi men had for their national sport. They’d behaved themselves since this afternoon’s incident, but she had a sense they were biding their time.

  Nate finished tuning the guitar and gave it back. Lewis launched into a version of “Hotel California.” Showing off with more enthusiasm than skill. Across the blaze Nate met her eyes, his own dancing with amusement and firelight. The red patch on his jaw had shrunk to a small br
uise.

  She’d forgotten it had been his skill that had sparked her son’s interest in playing, forgotten how he’d patiently taught eight-year-old Lewie his first chords. Claire could hold a tune, but Steve had been tone-deaf, though that never stopped him singing along.

  Claire experienced a pang for her late husband, embraced it like the old friend it was, then looked at the man she was trying not to fall in love with. She’d been glad Nate had admitted to feeling the same attraction. Glad because it got rid of the shame, made the bond more than the pathetic imaginings of a lonely widow.

  Of course, they wouldn’t do anything about it. She was completely in agreement with him on that. Neither of them needed this complication in their lives, the timing was all wrong, and it was highly possible that for both of them, this attraction was linked to grieving for Steve.

  Except she’d never developed feelings for Ross or Dan in the eighteen months since Steve’s death. Unwittingly, Claire sighed. No, it was Nate who quickened her pulse, Nate who roused a dangerous tenderness, a reluctant longing.

  She and Steve had once talked about finding someone else if one of them died, and she’d said jokingly, “Another woman? Over my dead body.” More serious, he’d replied. “If you find a guy who can give you what we have… Honey, I want you to be happy.” At the time she’d admired his unselfishness, now she wondered if his magnanimity was because he understood divided loyalties, already knew the SAS held a prior claim to his heart. She couldn’t think like this, didn’t want to. The same old endless circuit, she was tired of it.

  “Claire,” said Dan. “Settle an argument. Best kicker in the All Blacks, Carter or Weepu?”

  “Oh, Carter certainly,” she said without a clue, and Ross hooted.

  “Told you, Shep.”

  The men resumed their argument, leaving her free to watch the interaction across the fire. After an awkward start, Lewis and Nate now seemed relaxed in each other’s company. She’d made a tough call, but the right call.