“Why not retire after this, take some time for Max? You’ll make O-6, what’s your worry?”
He didn’t even like working out on base anymore. Too many familiar faces. He flexed his feet. The soreness in his calves was a testament to the extra-long session he’d put on the spin bike he’d bought. He kept it on the glassed-in deck upstairs, so he could watch the sun come up as he rode in place.
He saw the sunrise every day. Sleep wasn’t a given for him anymore.
The dark clouds threatened rain but so far only gusts of tropical warmth rustled the underbrush under tall firs that waved with the wind. Spring on Whidbey meant chaos as far as the weather was concerned.
He saw the approaching car before he heard it. A compact station wagon. As it neared he recognized the larger shape in back—the dog.
The woman in the driver’s seat made him catch his breath.
No.
It was the same honey corkscrew hair, the same generous mouth under the too-round-to-be-classic nose.
Was this some kind of joke? The very woman he’d guided through the fires of her own hell when Tom died was here to reach a hand into his purgatory?
More importantly, the woman who’d rejected him and whom he’d avoided since his return.
He stood as she brought the car to a stop in front of his house. She stepped out and walked straight to the back. There was no mistaking her graceful gait, her purposeful stride.
Winnie always knew where she was going, save for that brief tortured time after Tom’s death.
She opened the back of the wagon and commanded the dog down. It was a big dog but not a fluffy soft breed. The mostly black coat ruffled a little in the strong breeze.
Not a tiny dog, at least.
Max let out a sigh. The dog appeared to be tough and knowing as he trotted next to Winnie up the driveway.
She drew closer and he tried to stay focused on the dog, Winnie’s muddy boots, her barn coat, her jeans. Anything but the face he had trouble forgetting… He’d prided himself on staying away from her since his return to Whidbey two months earlier. He hadn’t even checked to see if she was still on the island—he assumed she was, or nearby, since her family lived in the vicinity.
But he’d kept her out of his life, away from the mess his mental state had made of it.
Until now.
She stopped a few feet away, close enough for him to make out the almond shape of her long-lashed amber eyes, yet far enough not to invite physical contact. No hello hug.
“Max.” She’d known it was him; he saw that in the resigned line of her mouth. But she hadn’t called first, hadn’t given him fair warning.
Hell, why should she? She made her feelings clear when she didn’t return your calls over two years ago.
He’d last seen her just before he’d taken the one-year position of Executive Officer, which had led into his next tour, also one year, as Commanding Officer.
“Winnie.” He stood at the edge of the drive, his hands in his pockets. Her hands were busy, too—one thrust in her pocket and one on the leash.
He’d always loved her hands. They were warm, long-fingered, elegant.
If he thought the PTSD had robbed him of his sex drive, he’d been mistaken. The familiar surge of need he associated with Winnie made him clench his hands inside his jeans pockets.
Winnie seemed unmoved by their reunion except for the way she tossed a stray curl out of her face. He saw her do that just a few times before. When she’d heard Tom’s will read by the Navy JAG, when he’d stopped by her house in the weeks after Tom’s death and two years ago, when she’d agreed to meet him for a beer at the local microbrewery after the Air Show. If only one of them had said no that night. If only he hadn’t given in to the surprising yet delightful sexual attraction that sprang up between them. If only they’d preserved their basic friendship, this inevitable meeting might not be so bone-scrapingly painful.
“This is Sam.” She turned to Sam. “Good dog, Sam. Greet Max.”
The dog sat and wagged his tail, an expectant look on his dark face. As Max leaned lower he could see the blond eyebrows and wisps of blond coming out of Sam’s ears. He reached out his hand. “Hi, Sam.”
Sam sniffed inquisitively before he licked Max’s open palm. The dog sidled up to him and sat down next to Max’s sneakered foot.
“He likes you.” Winnie smiled at Sam while she avoided eye contact with Max.
His memory of that night two years ago was intact, always had been. She’d enjoyed their lovemaking as much as he had. She could have called him. But Winnie hadn’t, as he’d known she wouldn’t—it wasn’t her style. She’d probably been embarrassed that she’d revealed so much to him that night. Physically, anyhow.
He’d already seen her inside and out on an emotional level when Tom was killed and he’d been her CACO, her Casualty Assistance Calls Officer. He’d been the one, along with the base chaplain, to knock on Winnie’s door at six in the morning, to inform her that Tom was dead. He’d taken her through all the paperwork, the life insurance forms, the burial arrangements. He’d found child care for Krista when it was needed, when the proceedings were too grim for a seven-year-old child to partake in.
He’d seen sides of Winnie he’d never expected. The whiny wife he’d chalked her up to be, the woman who always wanted Tom to get out of the Navy, turned into a strong widow before his eyes. She didn’t blame the Navy or Tom for his untimely death. Through the devastating grief, he watched her accept the unwelcome change in her and Krista’s lives with dignified grace.
Her grace was one of the many things about her that attracted him. A more serious relationship with Winnie, however, had never been a remote possibility. His first allegiance was to Tom and the Navy, and he planned to keep it that way.
He had more work to do, as the counselor said. And not all of it concerned his PTSD.
“I have hot water for tea,” he said. “Would you like to come in?”
Winnie lifted her chin and her gaze finally met his. The sparks in their brown depths took him back to that night with her, that one great night.
Before his life as a Navy pilot had been shattered.
“Okay, thanks.” She offered him a smile, but it didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. “We won’t stay too long, just enough to make sure you’ll be comfortable with Sam this weekend.”
* * *
THE KITCHEN WAS SLEEK and modern, as she remembered. It had been “the” house when they were all so much younger. Before death had cast a long and early shadow across their lives. Winnie watched Max pour hot water from the stainless kettle into the iron teapot. She didn’t dare look at his face. But then, staring at his masculine hands was awkward, too; as she remembered the last time she’d seen him.
When those hands had been all over her.
She sighed. Not dating was the only option for her at the moment but it had its drawbacks. Being acutely aware of her sexual attraction to Max was one of them.
“How’s Krista?” His deep baritone broke the silence of the square house.
“Krista’s great, fine. She’s in middle school.”
Her reply was as bare, as unadorned, as the house. She knew it and, judging by his raised brows, so did Max.
“She’s a great kid. Tom would be proud of her.” Her cadence was still too clipped. He was going to wonder why.
Stop it.
“I’m glad. Has she—”