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“You could find that in another line of work.”
“Tara,” he said. “I’m not you. I’m not a bright little ray of sunshine. I don’t know how to pick up the pieces of my shattered life and move forward as if nothing had happened. Every minute of every day the pain reminds me of just how broken I am.”
She couldn’t help it—she had to peek at him. The deepening twilight cast shadows over his face. His eyes were hooded again. The scruff of stubble darkened his jaw. His breathing was ragged and she realized he’d been sitting in the passenger seat a long time without stretching his leg, and he hadn’t taken a pain pill all day.
And here she’d been chattering glibly about mono. As if she could even begin to imagine the level of pain he’d suffered. Was still suffering. She could be so silly sometimes. No wonder Boone had never been her fan.
Up ahead lay an exit. Gas stations and fast food joints.
Tara did what she did best. She plastered on a happy smile, pretended everything was just fine and chirped, “Pit stop, coming right up.”
9 (#ulink_e16b51d6-4735-571a-94c8-d29fb516e3f5)
Thursday, July 2nd, 8:52 p.m.
“I’LL PUMP THE GAS,” Boone offered. It was the least he could do since she was doing all the driving. She was a good sport, too, putting up with his bellyaching. He should do something nice for her. Maybe he’d buy her something special.
“You do that and I’ll pop next door and grab us a bag of burgers.” She nodded at the fast-food hamburger joint near the gas station. “What do you like on your burger?”
“See if they’ve got a salad.”
“You need something more filling than a salad,” she argued.
“Hey, I gotta keep a handle on my weight while I’m out of commission.” He patted his belly. He might not have control over anything else, but he was determined to at least have control over his body.
Right. Good luck with that.
“I’ll surprise you.” She waggled her fingers at him over her shoulder.
He watched Tara walk away, hips swaying, her white shorts showing up brightly in the dusk and felt himself harden.
Classy, Toliver. Real classy.
He just had to hang in there. They were less than a day away from Miami. By this time tomorrow they would be going their separate ways. Forever.
Why that thought ate at him, he had no idea.
That wasn’t the truth. He did know why. It was because of how he felt when he was with her. Hopeful. She made him want to do better, be better.
Not to mention that she was hot as the Fourth of July rockets they were selling at the fireworks stand across the road. He should never have kissed her. Things were going along just fine until he’d kissed her in that cornfield, completely changing the sulky-war-vet-versus-sunny-ditz thing that had up until then kept them apart. When you slapped a label on someone it was easier to dismiss her, but spending this time in close proximity with Tara there was no label on earth that he could stick on her. She was unique.
He finished pumping the gas and holstered the nozzle just as Tara returned with a delicious-smelling brown paper bag.
“Guess what?” she said.
“We’re going to need arterial bypasses after dinner?”
She laughed as if his joke was truly funny. “There are picnic benches and a pretty little pond behind the gas station. Let’s go sit and eat. I saw lightning bugs. I love lightning bugs.”
Of course she did. Lightning bugs were just like her, bright and pretty and temporary.
“This way, soldier.” She headed off again, leaving him no choice but to follow her if he wanted something to eat.
He had to admit it was nice under the trees, the sound of frogs croaking, the flicker of the lightning bugs, the cool evening breeze blunting the highway noises. He sat down on the far corner of the cement picnic bench, angling his right leg out straight.
Instead of sitting across from him as he’d anticipated, Tara plunked down next to him, sitting so close he could feel her body heat. Her long, slender fingers, the nails painted a sweet salmon, unfurled the paper bag.
Disconcerted, he quickly glanced away, only to find himself peering down the V-neck of her shirt that revealed some amazing cleavage. She was just the right size. Not too big. Not too small. The size of ripe navel oranges. He loved oranges.
Purposely, he stared out across the pond. In the distance, some early fireworks popped and bright star-bursts of yellow, green and red streaked into the night sky. Saturday was the Fourth of July. The day his sister, Jackie, was marrying that coastie.
“I got you a chicken wrap,” Tara announced, her fingers curled around the paper-wrapped sandwich. She settled it in front of him, her graceful hand moving up the sandwich in a delicate stroke, those delectable fingers plucking at the paper as she undid the wrapping.
What was wrong with him? He was getting jacked up over a hand.
“I can unwrap it myself,” he growled. “It’s my knee that’s out of commission, not my hands.”
She raised her palms in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. Didn’t mean to offend.”
Crap! He’d done it again. Gotten crabby because she’d unwittingly stirred him. It wasn’t her fault she was so damned sexy.
They ate in silence, watching the fireworks and the lightning bugs, listening to the night noises and eating their sandwiches. It had been a long time since he’d had someone to share meals with and even though he was loath to admit it, he enjoyed the companionship. And she’d forgiven him again. She was munching her food with a smile on her face.
Another couple came strolling through the spot, holding hands, and they settled in at the next picnic table. They were both dressed in Civil War garb. The man was in a replica rebel uniform and the woman wore a bonnet and ankle-length calico dress.
“They must be reenactors headed for Shiloh,” Tara whispered. She turned her head and the fruity scent of her hair drifted over him, enthralling him.
“How far is it from Nashville to the Shiloh battlefield?” he asked.
“A hundred miles or more.”
He shifted on the bench. They were a thirty-minute drive from Nashville. At sixty miles an hour—their average speed pulling the U-Haul, a hundred miles would take them over an hour and a half. That meant it was over two hours to the Shiloh battlefield.
Tara started talking about the battle and her face lit up. Clearly, she’d done her research.
“I’m gonna go talk to them,” she said, hopping up and rushing over to strike up a conversation with the couple.
Boone sat watching her. He remembered what she’d looked like coming out of the bathroom at the B&B dressed in nothing but a towel. Freaking hell, his erection was already half-mast again.
A few minutes later, she came bounding back, chattering up a storm about the reenactment. He’d never seen a woman so worked up about a battle. He got to his feet and tossed the wrapping from their sandwiches into the nearby trashcan. He wished she’d get that worked up over him.
Since when? She gets on your last nerve.
Yeah? Well that was before the trip and before he really got to know her. He swallowed his inexplicable need to kiss her again. A craving to taste those luscious lips.
This was bad news. The way she made him feel. He’d already begun projecting into the future, picturing what life would be like without her. No impromptu visits. No surprise casseroles. No funny stories or jokes. Doing something nice for her would simply make it that much harder to let go. It was better for him to keep his distance. He’d just pay a couple of hundred extra dollars. Money ought to do the trick. There was no need for him to do anything personal for her.
“You wanna go to Shiloh?” he blurted impulsively.
She blinked at him. “What?”
“You want to go watch the opening salvos? The battle starts at dawn, right?”
Pure excitement flared in her eyes. “You mean it?”
“We are this close. It would be a shame to miss it. Especially since you have a family connection.”
“But what about getting to Key West in time to stop your sister’s wedding?”
“It’s a sixteen-hour drive from Nashville to Miami give or take. Throw in another two hours for the detour to Shiloh and two more to watch the beginning of the battle. That’s twenty hours. Still time to make it to Key West by Saturday afternoon.”
“Really?” She jumped up and down, a ball of exuberant energy. He’d put that expression on her face.
Boone was…well, hell…he was happy that he’d made her happy. “Sure. Why not?”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight. “I’m never, ever going to forget this. You’re absolutely awesome.”
“Which means we need to get a move on,” he said, alarmed by how good it felt to be clutched in her enthusiastic embrace. “Now.”
“Yes. Right. Let’s go.” She grabbed his hand, pulling him headlong toward the car.
Great. Now you’ve done it. You’ve bonded. You’re bonding with her. You, Toliver, are sunk.
THEY REACHED THE Shiloh National Military Park just before midnight, but after an hour of checking out the local motels, they were alarmed to discover that there were no vacancies to be had. Tara hadn’t even considered that.
“We can sleep in the car,” Boone said, with an amazing amount of patience.
“But your leg. You need a bed to stretch out in. Maybe we could drive back to the last town and see if they have any vacancies there.”
“The battle starts at dawn. It wouldn’t be worth the drive back and forth for just a couple of hours’ sleep. We’ll be fine in the car. I can put the seat back as far as it will go.”
Tara nibbled her bottom lip. She felt terrible about the motel situation. “Boone—”
“Stop over-thinking it.” He yawned. “Just pull into a parking lot and let’s get some shut-eye. Compared to what those Civil War soldiers went through, cramped quarters in a Honda is a luxury.”
“At least take a pain pill.”
When he didn’t argue but pawed the pill bottle from his pocket and swallowed two with the watered-down drink left over from their previous stop, she knew he must really be hurting.
She drove into the empty parking lot of a nearby mall, and by the time she killed the engine Boone appeared to be fast asleep, his fingers interlaced, hands resting on his chest.
Hyped up about the Shiloh battlefield reenactment, it took Tara several minutes to settle down. She put her seat back and squirmed around trying to get comfortable.
She lay on her right side, hands stacked under her head, watching Boone sleep. God, he was devastatingly handsome, even when he was asleep, maybe especially when he was asleep, because there was a vulnerable air to him now that he fought hard to keep at bay when he was awake.
Her heart thumped loudly and she had no idea why. She wished she could build a wall around herself the way he did, hold her silly infatuation at bay. Why did she have to fling herself headlong into everything? Including falling for the big lug?
Tara pulled in a sigh. What was it about him that had her heart tripping all over itself?
Maybe it was the inner gentleness he tried so hard to cover up, but couldn’t quite hide. Or maybe it was the way his hot eyes made her body heat up every time he looked at her, as if he’d never noticed another woman before.
A frisson of pleasure passed through her at the thought. That very well could be it.
For the longest time, she lay there, happy for a time simply watching over him. He deserved someone to look after him. He hadn’t had nearly enough of it.
She must have dozed off, because some time later something stirred her.
A throaty moan came from the other side of the car.
Boone! Something was wrong.
She jerked wide-awake and rammed her hip into the steering wheel. Ouch! She blinked, forgetting for a second where she was, her muscles cramped and achy.
“Get down!” Boone shouted.
Distressed, she ducked her head. Get down? What was happening? She shot a glance at the man beside her. He thrashed around in the seat, his eyes closed. “Stay back. There’s a bomb!”
Tara sat up, gnawed her bottom lip. He was having a nightmare. A lump swelled in her throat. Poor guy, the horrors of the past that he hid so well while awake overcame him in slumber. His inner battle reached deep inside her, touched her soul and broke her heart.
She didn’t know what to do. Should she try to rouse him? She’d heard somewhere that you shouldn’t startle soldiers when they were sleeping.
“Boone,” she whispered.
“No safe place,” he mumbled, grunted and then winced.
Did he have post-traumatic stress disorder? It would explain a lot about him. Why he kept to himself and put up emotional barriers.
It took everything that she had in her not to touch him. “It’s okay. You’re not overseas. You’re here, safe with me.”
He shook his head. “No, no.”
“Shh. Shh.”
His eyes moved behind closed lids, the rapid action of dream sleep. “Tara?” he whispered hoarsely.
“Yes, I’m right here.”
“Pretty Tara.” His tone turned dreamy and he reached out a directionless hand, slowly pawing the air as if he were stroking her.
Oh, wow. What now?
Unexpected tingles spread throughout her body. It moved her to see him so vulnerable. It might be dangerous to wake a sleeping soldier, but she didn’t feel comfortable eavesdropping on his dream apparently when he appeared to be dreaming about her now. “Boo—”
“So pretty.” His hand made contact with her hair, his fingers slid through it.
His touch sent her pulse reeling. “Ah, Boone.”
“I want you, Tara. I want you so bad.” His eyes were opened now, but his gaze looked dazed. Was he awake or still sleeping?
