Familiar Stranger (4 page)

And the moment she thought it, her sanity took a hike. He'd all but said he was a spy. Spies killed people. Then she shook off the thought. He'd also been a soldier, and they killed people, too. It didn't make them heinous. It made them heroes.

Having settled that in her mind, she began to rearrange the magazines on the coffee table, unaware that David was watching her from the doorway. It wasn't until she straightened and started to leave that she saw him standing in the shadows.

"Oh! David! You startled me."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Was there something you needed?" she asked.

Yes, my life back … with you
. "Not really. I was just watching you, thinking how very beautiful you are."

"I'm a middle-aged grandmother," she muttered, and gave the coffee table a final swipe with her dust cloth.

"With a damned fine body and a face that could still break a heart," he added, and then walked into the room and took the dust cloth out of her hands. "We need to talk."

Her heart fluttered, then settled back into a normal rhythm as she reminded herself there was no need to be nervous. The man was the father of her child. But when he took her by the hand and pulled her close to the light, she felt naked all over again beneath his gaze.

"I frighten you, don't I?" he asked.

Cara blushed then sighed. Finally, she nodded. "A little."

"My life has been ugly, I'll admit, but I would die before I'd hurt you."

The tenderness in his words was shattering. Before she knew it, her hands were on his chest, her face tilted toward the light—and him.

"I didn't mean it like that," she said quickly. "I wasn't thinking physical harm. It's just that I've been alone for almost three years now and just starting to learn to live without the sound of someone else's voice. It's hard to become accustomed to loneliness when you've shared your life with another."

"I wouldn't know."

Again, his answer pulled at her emotions.

"What I'm trying to say is … you were my first love, David. I gave the truest and best part of myself to you."

He groaned and started to take her in his arms when she stopped him.

"No … wait … let me finish." She took a deep breath. "The only thing that kept me going after you left was knowing that I carried your child. My husband was a good man. He loved Bethany as if she was his own and never made a difference between his affections for her and our other two children." She ducked her head and then made herself look at him. "But I'm ashamed to say that I never gave him what I should have because I'd already given it to you. Dead or alive, you had my heart. Now he's dead and you're back and I'm afraid. I'm afraid to get to know the man you've become. I'm afraid I'll love him as much as I loved the boy." Her voice trailed off into a whisper. "And I'm afraid that if I do, I won't get over losing you again. So … what I guess I'm asking is, why did you really come? Was it just to assuage what you perceived as guilt, or were you looking for something more?"

He wanted to assure her, but he couldn't lie. As long as Frank was loose, his life wasn't worth a damn.

"I'd be lying if I said I'd only come to say hello. But there are a lot of loose ends to my past that have to be tied, and until that happens, I don't have the luxury of making plans."

Cara felt the blood draining from her face. That wasn't what she expected to hear.

"That sounds fatal," she said, trying to fake a laugh.

He didn't answer, and the laugh became a sob.

"My God … tell me I'm wrong."

"I can't make promises … but if I could, then I'd be giving you fair warning that I wanted back in your life."

Her voice trembled. "How far?"

"As far as you'd let me go."

"Ah … David … you always were a hard sell," she said, and then wrapped her arms around his neck.

The weight of her body against his chest was a gift.

"So, are you saying it's enough?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm not saying that, but I am saying that I'll take what you're willing to give. I asked for too much the first time and lost you. I'm not willing to make that mistake again."

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

"God … woman, you don't know how many years I've dreamed of this."

She pulled back to look at him. "Oh, but yes, I do. And while I would like the luxury of being wooed and courted, I'm not willing to waste our time on the ritual."

"What are you saying?"

"I want to fall asleep in your arms and wake up the same way. I want to laugh with you and cook for you and play with you. I don't want to think about loose ends. Whatever time you have to give me will have to be enough."

He tunneled his fingers through her hair, taking her kiss without asking, ripping her emotions to shreds with the anguish on his face.

"I don't deserve this," he said.

"No, you don't," she said. "But I do."

He laughed softly, then swept her off her feet and into his arms.

"Are you going to make love to me?" she asked.

"Hell, yes," he muttered.

She sighed. "It's about time."

"If you don't mind," David whispered, nuzzling the side of her neck, "I'd rather do this in a bed this time."

"Down the hall, third door on the right."

As he carried her there, he had to remind himself that this wasn't a dream. Cara was really in his arms.

When they reached Cara's room, he set her down by her bed and kissed her. Tentatively, then gently, then with a low, muffled groan.

Cara tangled her arms around his neck, clutching him desperately. When he began to take off her clothes, her knees went weak. This was happening, she knew, but it was all so surreal. She couldn't count the number of times in her life when she'd imagined such a scene. David striding through the door and sweeping her into his arms and then carrying her off into the sunset. The fantasy had lasted through her twenties and her thirties, and somewhere around the middle of her forties, she'd given up on fantasies.

Now this was happening and it wasn't a dream.

It wasn't a fantasy.

It was David—a rock-solid, flesh-and-blood man who wanted her as much as she wanted him.

When he began pulling off her clothes, then his, her pulse accelerated. Seconds later, she was flat on her back in the middle of her bed and he was hovering above her.

"You are so very beautiful," David whispered, and then rolled over onto his side and began tracing the contours of her body with one hand, fingering the curve of her chin, cupping the shape of a breast, mapping the plains of her belly, then testing the juncture between her thighs.

Cara's heart was pounding, her mouth slack with desire. She wanted to touch him, too, to test the strength of his muscles against the tenderness of his gaze, but she was too distracted by what he was doing.

"David?"

He shook his head and leaned over her, taking license with everything that he chose while leaving her breathless and aching for more.

One minute passed and then another and another and the coil that had been winding within Cara's belly began to throb. She moaned, then moaned again. This time louder. This time longer.

David's head was pounding as the blood rushed through his veins. The need to be inside her was strong, but he was waiting for that breaking point of coming undone.

Then he heard her gasp and saw her eyes lose all focus. When she clutched at his arms, his name a prayer on her lips, he made his move.

"David … oh … oh … please."

He was above her and inside her before she took her next breath. Her climax shook him, coming within three strokes of entry, and it was all he could do not to follow. But when she started to cry in soft, happy sobs, he couldn't hold himself back. The joy of knowing he'd given her this pleasure was an aphrodisiac he couldn't control. He rode the feeling with all the strength he could muster, and when it was over, thought he'd died in her arms.

* * *

Cara woke abruptly, as mothers always do when sensing something wasn't right in their world. Only this time, it wasn't the high-pitched wail of a frightened child that woke her, it was the man beside her. She lay motionless, listening to the labored rhythm of his breathing, and fought an urge to cry. His skin was clammy and he kept muttering something she couldn't understand. She raised up on one elbow, staring intently into the shadowed contours of his face, then let her gaze drift down his body. She'd seen the scars. Bullet holes. A shrapnel wound. A thick, ropy scar along the back of his leg. Dear Lord, what had happened to him? What hell was he reliving in his dreams?

Suddenly, he sat straight up in bed and she fell back in surprise.

"David?"

At the sound of her voice, his body went limp.

"I forgot where I was," he said.

"You were dreaming."

"Yes."

"Can I get you something? A glass of water? Some aspirin?"

He crawled out of bed and walked across the room to where his suitcase was lying.

"Where are you going?" she asked, as she watched him dig a pair of shorts from the case.

"I need to run it off," he said shortly. "I'll be fine. Go back to sleep."

"Run what off, David?"

He turned then, nothing but a mass of shadow and shape on the other side of the room, but the tone of his voice was image enough.

"The past."

"But David, you can't run away from the past."

"I know, but I can damn well wear it out. Now go back to sleep. I'll let myself in when I come back."

"You'll need a key," she said, and started to get up.

"No, I won't."

Then he was gone.

She lay there for a moment, absorbing the last thing he'd said and then started to tremble. What kind of man had she let into her bed?

Chapter 3

«
^
»

D
avid ran without thought, focusing only on the impact of foot to ground and the mind-numbing relief that exhaustion always brought. Leaving Cara had seemed cowardly, especially after he'd come all this way to see her. But he was too ashamed to let her see his weaknesses—to admit that something as innocuous as a nightmare could undo him to this extent.

When he'd first run into the woods behind her house, he'd gone without a destination other than to forget. But a short time later, when he realized he had no idea where he was, he paused in a clearing and looked at the sky, reading the heavens like road map. The North Star was a constant that he quickly sought out. Once he found it, he realigned himself with the world and wished it was as simple to do that in his own life. By the time he'd outrun the demons, he had begun to circle back and was less than a mile from her home. Now it was simply a matter of getting there before exhaustion hit.

He came out of the trees, his steps dragging, his feet numb and burning. As he started up the gentle slope behind her house, he looked up and then stopped.

Lights.

She'd turned on the lights so he could see to come home.

There had been so many times in his life when he had not allowed himself the luxury of shedding a tear. He had no way of knowing that the simple act of lighting his way home was all it would take. But now…

He shuddered, then swallowed around a lump in his throat. Not once since he'd begun this lonely journey that had become his life had he had someone to come home to.

Dear God, if only he did belong here—to Cara and what was left of her world. He needed it—deserved it. He'd given up so damned much. Surely he would be allowed some joy on this earth before his days were over. He took a deep breath and then shook off the thoughts. As long as the showdown with Frank still loomed, he couldn't allow himself to dwell on the future. He threw back his shoulders and started to walk.

Cara saw him come out of the trees. Her shoulders sagged with a relief she wouldn't voice. He paused at the bottom of the hill, and although she couldn't see his features, she was struck by the stillness of his posture, as if he'd become a part of the scenery. Then he started toward her, his steps slow and dragging.

She stood up from the chair in which she'd been sitting, then stayed within the shadows, struggling with the urge to run to him. Still uncertain where she fit into his life, she watched, waiting to take her cue from him.

David felt her presence before he saw her, and when she stepped out of the shadows to the edge of the porch, a weight lifted from his chest. This was just like a dream he'd had so many times before. Coming home to find this woman awaiting his arrival was nothing short of a miracle.

"Cara."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"I made some coffee. There are fresh towels and a washcloth in the bathroom." She hesitated, then added, "Do you need anything else?"

He swallowed around a lump in his throat. "Just you."

"I've been here all the time."

"I know. I'm the one who's been lost."

She walked off the porch and took him by the hand.

"Then welcome home, my darling," she said softly, and led him inside.

David went silently, knowing that simple act had done more toward saving his sanity than anything else she could have ever done.

When he came out of the shower it was close to four in the morning. The lights were out in the rest of the house, with only a small ginger jar lamp lighting the area beside Cara's bed. He stood in the doorway, watching her sleep. So still. So beautiful.

He wondered how many times Ray Justice had done this very same thing, maybe in this very same place—watching his wife in their bed. Jealousy burned low in his gut but he shoved it aside. There was nothing left to be jealous about. The man was dead, and he was here.

But there was Frank.

The possibility existed that he might never have another chance to do this—to stand within the quiet of a home and watch the woman he loved as she slept. This time, it was regret that drew him to the bed. He pulled back the covers and slipped in beside her, selfishly taking everything she had to offer now.